


Children Aren't Easy (and neither are dads)

by minamiren



Series: Children Aren't Easy [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, Fluff, M/M, Post-Divorce, Single Parents, Sleepy Cuddles, hot dad au, i dont think so, ill add tags as i go, it ends up good though, its not sad though, just mentioned in passing, karkat has a very pretty tattoo, one awkward stiuation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-03-09 18:46:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3260495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minamiren/pseuds/minamiren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John is a single father, looking for someone who can watch over his daughter while he teaches in the afternoons and evenings. Karkat is a broke college student whose classes reside in morning times. Dave watches from the sidelines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coffee Creamer

**Author's Note:**

> Because I can't resist taking on more au's. This is from the johnkat skype group, but I couldn't resist taking this and actually writing it. So here we are! Enjoy Karkat being awkward as hell around hot, single parent John.

“So. I heard you were looking for a cute single college student to look over your dear, precious, Casey?”

You don’t even know what you were expecting when you answered the phone once you saw that the caller ID was giving you Dave’s name. You probably should have expected this ever since you first told him that you needed help looking after Casey while you were at work. Daycare was just getting too expensive; you can’t help it!

“Shut up, Dave,” you tell him after making sure that Casey is in her room and therefore cannot hear you. “You know that’s not what I meant when I told you that I needed help with Casey. And I never once said cute or single!”

“Well then, guess that’s going to be an extra bonus,” he says, smug. “I found someone perfect. I know the guy; he’s related to Kanaya somehow. Cousins, I think. Though I don’t have a clue how the fuck that happened, because they have completely opposite personalities. So opposite they might as well be all the way across the world from each other, or maybe farther, except that’s not possible because then they’d be closer on one side and—”

“Dude,” you cut him off. “I don’t have a clue what you’re trying to tell me here.”

You hear him huff a little, as if he can’t believe you’re not bowing to his awesomeness or whatever and should definitely get what he’s talking about. “What I’m telling you is that you need to thank me because I found someone to look after your precious daughter with you. He has all morning classes—I don’t know how, that would literally kill me—and he’s like, twenty four. Or something, I don’t remember. Anyway, the fucker hasn’t graduated yet and really needs money. You know, so he can graduate. Or at least a place to stay, because I know he doesn’t have the money for a dorm. Shit’s expensive.”

You narrow your eyes a little. “What’s the catch?” you ask slowly.

“Nothing,” he says, which you seriously doubt. “You give him a place to stay and food and make sure he doesn’t blow up, and he’ll watch Casey for you. I’ll bet he even offers to pick her up after school.”

That actually. Sounds like a good idea. It could really help you both monetarily and in the working field, because you honestly can’t just switch the times that you teach classes, and Casey needs looking after. “It might be nice having someone else. And I do need help,” you say begrudgingly.

“It’s settled, then!” you hear him say brightly. “I’ll send him over Sunday afternoon at three. This Sunday. You can give him the tour and then all will be well! He’ll definitely accept. Anyway, see you later dude. Gotta make sure he knows the time.” And then he’s hung up. You check your phone for the day.

It’s Sunday. Twelve thirty. Holy fuck, you’re going to have to clean the house before he gets here. You’d be a terrible host if you didn’t.

* * *

When your phone rings, you almost drop it into the bath with you. You may or may not have this (really dangerous, considering your bank account) habit of reading on it in the bath. This is why you probably should not do it anymore.

But you manage to keep it in your hand (“HOLY FUCKING SHITTITS I’M GOING TO FUCKING MURDER WHOEVER THIS IS”), and groan when you see that it’s Dave.

You answer the phone anyway, because you’re a dumbass. “What. The fuck. Do you want.” You really should have put your phone on silent. You think you will do that from now on.

“Okay, so you know how you’re broke as hell?” he starts, and you can already tell that this conversation is going to be absolutely terrible. “Well, I have a great idea.”

“Yeah, so do I,” you growl. “It involves you taking some of your crazy wife’s decorative nooses and hanging yourself with them. Or me pushing you off a cliff. Whichever one you’d like; It’s your choice!”

“Aw, how sweet of you,” he croons in return, and you wish you could reach through the phone line and either strangle him or punch him. “But seriously. I found you a job. And this is actually legit, the guy who needs help is my best bro.”

You’re…interested, despite still having a desire to redesign his face with your fists. “Okay. Tell me. And if you’re fucking with me, I will end you.”

You hear him snort. “Wow, Karkat, that’s no way to talk to someone older than you! Either way, he’s a single parent. He has a six year old daughter and teaches at a college near you. Not the one you go to, though. I don’t think. Whatever, that’s not the point. The point is that he needs someone to watch over Casey in the afternoons while he’s teaching classes. And I know you have all morning classes. Shitty idea, by the way.”

It was the only way you had hope of getting a job to try and support yourself as much as possible while you were at school. Right now you’re in a shitty apartment an hour away from your college, and it’s still too expensive, even though it’s cheaper than dorms would be.

He continues without waiting for your response, as if he already knows what your reservations would be. “No catch. I know he lives a lot closer to where you’re going to school, and his house is a shitton nicer than the closet you live in right now. He’s offering food and an extra bedroom to you if you take the job. All you gotta do is look after his daughter. And deal with his goofiness. He’s a huge dork.”

“…When would this start?” you ask slowly, still wanting to hesitate despite yourself.

“Well. He’s expecting you at three today, so I’ll text you his address and then you can get your ass down there, okay? He’ll probably have you over by the end of the week, when he can get Casey out of daycare.” Enough time to terminate your contract on the apartment, then. But wait.

“Three,” you say, then look at your watch (waterproof, hell yes). It’s one forty five. You’re going to actually strangle this douche the next you see him.

“Yep!” he says, and you can imagine the smug fucking smile he has on his face. “So you better hurry! See ya later, Karkat. You’ll have the address in ten minutes.” He hangs up, and you blink at the screen of your phone.

Fucking shit. You still need to wash your hair.

* * *

You’re late anyway, despite having hurried your ass as fast as you could get it (maybe distracted a little bit with your book a few times, but that doesn’t count). Okay, so it’s like, three ten, but you’re still pissed at yourself! You really didn’t want to already be making a bad impression.

Though that will probably be inevitable, the longer he knows you.

You get out of your car and look around, frowning as you squint against the sunlight. (It’s old as fuck but reliable; you love it. It looks so out of place along with the rest of the cars in this neighborhood. You can tell the guy you’re coming to help isn’t nearly as broke as you are. But then again, he’s not a college student.) There’s no one outside to give you funny glances, so you just hurry up the driveway.

You pause as you lift your hand, actually having reservations about knocking on the door. What if this was just a random address that Dave had given you just to fuck with you? You would actually never forgive him. You would get your ass right to his house and strangle him right in front of his damn kid, you’d be so mad.

But you finally do knock, and you try your best to remind yourself to breathe as you wait for this mysterious father to answer the door.

You hear shuffling, and the sound of a lock turning in the door before it opens, and Atticus Finch stands in front of you. He has glasses on, and his hair swoops up in a way that you’re sure is completely natural and probably untameable, but still ridiculously cute (despite the fact that he’s probably at least six years older than you). He’s taller than you, too, which makes you frown.

You blink up at him, voice caught in your throat for a moment. Holy shit, he was attractive. Hot, even, which is something you definitely should not be thinking about a single father.

You think it anyway, because damn.

He smiles widely at you, and opens his door further, stepping aside to invite you into his house. “Hey! I’m John. Egbert. Dave said that you’d be coming to see about watching my daughter?” He closes the door behind you, then offers his hand to you.

You take it, trying to be as not-awkward as you can as you shake it. “Karkat Vantas. I’m a college student near here. Well, the college is near here. My apartment is not.”

He laughs some at this, as if you said something funny. His laugh is absolutely charming. “Well then, Karkat Vantas, I’m hoping that I can help you out here,” he tells you. “I’m sure Dave told you, but my daughter, Casey. I need to take her out of daycare, because we’re not receiving anything from her mother anymore. It’s not a big deal; it was just a three year crutch we agreed on, but I’d still prefer to have someone watch her instead of keeping her in daycare.” You get it; shit like that is expensive nowadays. You’re curious about the story behind the little girl’s mother, but you know way better than to ask. So instead you just nod, letting him lead you into the living room.

“Basically, if you’ll help me watch over her, then you can stay in our guest room! And eat here and everything.” He sits you down on the couch, then tilts his head at you. “Coffee?” he offers, and despite the fact that it’s three in the afternoon, you nod.

“Yeah, thanks,” you say slowly, and watch as he shuffles off into the adjoining kitchen.

“Is there something you want in it?” you hear him call. “Milk or sugar or creamer?”

“Creamer,” you call back, and shove your hands in the pockets of your hoodie as you look around the room. You feel completely inadequately dressed, especially considering how nice John had been. Holy shit, you almost called him Atticus before he introduced himself as John. Not to mention that he looked intelligent, far more than you’ll probably end up being even by the time you finish your classes—and he’s already a fucking professor somewhere.

You dick around on your phone for a bit as you listen to John in the kitchen, not really wanting to get up and touch things without permission, or stare freakishly. You’ll get a good enough look around if John decides to let you stay.

He returns a few minutes later with two mugs, assumably one for you and one for himself. He passes one to you. “Creamer as promised,” he assures, and you take a sip of it.

Almost spit the drink out of your mouth, because this is an abomination. Holy fucking shit, this is pure fucking sugar. Did he pour half the creamer in here, then add a little coffee on top to make it brown? You can barely even taste the bitterness, what the hell. You officially take back absolutely anything you may have thought earlier about John being cute or intelligent because holy shit.

“What the hell did you put in here?” You demand before realizing wow, this is probably not a good time to be using foul language. You’re supposed to be proving that you’re good for children, for fuck’s sake (you absolutely hate children).

He shrugs. “Some creamer. Why? Is there not enough? I can add more if you’d like,” he offers, and although he may sound innocent you can tell the little fucker is messing with you by the way his mouth curves at the corner.

You’re suddenly doubting your ability to stay sane in this house, if he’s going to act that way twenty four seven. And judging by what Dave said (“he’s a huge dork”), he might. Ohhhh, man. “Just give me yours,” you tell him, and reach forward and pull his right out of his hand, immediately downing three large gulps. Thank fuck he didn’t make his the same way.

You hand him your old cup, and he frowns down at it. “I had already drank out of that,” he protests, and you raise an eyebrow.

“Is that a problem?” you ask, and then internally flip because holy shit that was probably…not a very smart thing to do. Taking some guy’s drink who had just offered to house you? What the hell, Vantas, use that lump of grey matter between your ears and try not to get kicked out before you’re even accepted in.

Then again, he started it first.

He sort of flails at your answer. “But—germs! What if Casey sees?” Ah, that’s it. You give a pointed look around the room.

“I see no ankle-gnawers here,” you say, and he shrugs. He just gets up and heads back into the kitchen, presumably to get himself a new cup of coffee.

There’s the sound of a door opening and closing, then a slight rustle to your left. You look towards the sound and raise an eyebrow—there’s a little girl there, hair white blonde. She can’t be more than six, if that.

“Who’re you?” she asks softly, and you narrow your eyes a little. This must be Casey. You need to make a good impression. On John, not the girl.

You turn towards her more, trying to smooth out your facial expression. “I’m Karkat,” you tell her. “I go to school near here, and I might be watching you after school from now on, if you’d like that.”

Please say yes. John looks like the sucker to be persuaded by his child’s will.

She walks up to you and then stands, feet together and hands clasped behind her back. She gives you a once-over, and you feel oddly scrutinized, considering it’s just a six year old looking at you. “You’re gonna be my babysitter?” she asks, and you nod.

She grins. “Yay!” she exclaims, and then launches yourself at you. John comes back to see you leaning back against the couch, your eyes open in horror and hands held up as she practically hangs from your neck.

He snickers at your expression, setting down his coffee to gently pull Casey off you, holding her against him. “So you like Karkat, Casey?” he asks her, leaning his head in as if they’re having a secret discussion. You feel almost as if you should walk away and let them have it.

She nods confidentially. “Yeah,” she says, arms now around his neck instead. Her legs can’t even go all the way around him, it’s adorable.

“Should we keep him?” he whispers, and she nods happily. John turns to you after setting Karkat down, and shrugs. “The girl has spoken. You’re welcome to stay,” he tells you, and you blink. Wow, he really is the kind of sucker to be persuaded by his child. Though maybe it was Dave’s recommendation that did it. He may be a douche, but you know that he wouldn’t be the kind to make a bad choice in this situation. Or at least you fucking hope not.

John checks his watch, and suddenly jumps up. “Oh, shoot!” he exclaims, and it’s the weirdest thing, hearing someone older than fourteen censor themselves. “I have to head to the store before it closes and grab some food; they’re having a produce sale. I’ll be back in an hour. Do you mind watching Casey already, or should I take her with me? All you’ll need to do is make sure she’s asleep by nine,” he says hurriedly, and you blink.

“Um, okay,” you say stupidly, and he sighs in relief.

“Thank you so much,” he tells you, then frowns. “Take care of her, okay? You won’t have to do this again for another week, I promise. And we can get your stuff here tomorrow. You’re free to explore for now, and help yourself to anything you want. Casey’s already eaten, don’t let her have more food. Lay low on the sugar especially. Too late for that.” He shrugs on a jacket and grabs an actual fedora. Holy fuck, he is actually Atticus Finch.

“See you later,” he rushes, and then he’s out the door. What the fuck just happened.

You turn to Casey, who’s looking at you, head tipped to the side. “I’m going to play in my room. Can you read me a bedtime story before I sleep, Mr. Vantas?” she informs you, and you blink as she calls you “Mr. Vantas.” Well, that’s going to take some getting used to.

“Yeah, sure,” you agree without thinking, then shoo her away. “Now go play,” you say gruffly, and she laughs and runs off to her room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

And you do think. Of John’s face when he opened the door, and how attractive he was. And how even though he’s a complete idiot (you’ve already picked this up, re: coffee prank), he’s still fucking hot.

You groan, cover your face with your hands. You are so, so screwed.

Metaphorically.


	2. Spaghetti Dinners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter two! Sorry for taking so long to get it up; I've actually had it forever uploaded to my tumblr, but that's my bad, I suppose! Here's the next chapter, though, and hopefully that means it will be even less time until chapter three.

Just a little over a week later, your room is empty.

Your room at your apartment, that is. Instead, all of your things are in a ridiculously spacious guest room. Your clothes only use up three out of five of the dresser drawers. And the drawers that you did use were barely more than halfway through. You mostly just distributed clothing the way you did for organization purposes.

When you had finally gotten the last of your clothes into the room and kicked John’s ass out—he had wanted to help, had been so fucking nice about it, despite the fact that he had just come home from work and was probably frankly exhausted, and more likely than not would rather have been playing with his daughter—you sit down on the edge of the bed, looking around the room and taking it in. It really is much bigger than should be technically necessary for you—for fuck’s sake, this is a queen bed. You get that since it’s a guest room it’s nice, just. Now it’s yours.

You get this amazing room, and free meals, and you’re a shitton closer to your college. And for what? Watching after this gorgeous idiot’s daughter.

Fuck, you really need to stop thinking about him like that. No more ‘gorgeous,’ no more ‘pretty.’ No more ‘handsome’ or ‘hot.’ He’s a father, for fuck’s sake; not to mention the fact that he’s years older than you and you are his babysitter what is wrong with you.

These are thoughts you tend to have often after conversing with John, or thinking about him for extended periods of time.

Other than that, though, things have been going great. You’ve been coming up here to watch Casey even before you were officially moved in, despite the fact that John told you not to bother and he could leave her at Dave’s or something. You refused to let John refuse you, and instead started staying with her after your lessons, chat with John a little both before and after he went to work.

You no longer let him make you coffee, though.

Casey is a whole nother story onto itself. Or herself, you suppose. The girl is ridiculously adorable, and you’re insanely curious as to how she has almost white-blonde hair, considering John’s black. She’s extremely playful, sweet, and talkative. Shit, is this child talkative. You’ve only been here a week, and you’ve already learned so much about her, as well as John.

She’s best friends with Dave’s kid.

She loves salamanders.

John is allergic to peanuts, but she loves peanut butter sandwiches. John later tells you that he makes them for her, even though sometimes if he isn’t careful enough it gets on his skin and swells up and he has to knock himself out with benadryl.

John plays piano. You’ve seen the thing pushed against a wall in the living room, but you’ve never heard it played past Casey playing ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ for you the first day you stayed.

You really like it here, you think as you lay back on the unfamiliar bed, looking at the ceiling. It’s fucking weird, you’re not going to lie—don’t think about how hot he is, don’t do it—but it’s so helpful for you you half feel like doing manual labor for him as well. He’d sure as fuck deserve it.

You end up falling asleep like this, laying across the bed the wrong direction with the lights on and your clothes on too, so enraptured in your own thoughts and anticipation of being able to stay. You don’t wake up when John comes in, smiles crookedly at your sleeping form. You don’t wake up when he maneuvers you under the blankets somehow, tucking you in much like he would Casey. You don’t wake up to his whispered ‘goodnight’ or the flick of the lights or click of the door shut.

But you know it happened, or at least most of it did, when you wake up to find nothing as it had been when you had fallen asleep.

—-

“Mister Karkat?”

You glance up from your biochemistry textbook after a moment’s pause; it still makes you think before you recognize that even though there is a ‘mister’ in front of your name, the little girl is still addressing you. It’s kind of cute, how adamant both she and John are about the name, even though you don’t really give a rat’s ass if she called you something polite or just your first name. Hell, even your last name. The ‘mister’ thing is just a little weird.

“Yeah?” you say slowly, a little concerned as to what she may or may not say. Sometimes children say weird-ass things, and you’re not entirely in the mood of having to cleverly evade telling her what some inappropriate word that she heard means (If she heard something, you kind of hope it’s not from you. It probably was.), or some other shit.

“What do you usually do when the lights go out?” she asks, and you frown. What was up with that question? You hear a slight rumble just then, and you realize that it’s thundering. Aw shit, John’s gonna have fun getting home in that in a hour.

“Well,” you say, slowly, not really knowing what she was looking for. You’re actually not all that comfortable in pitch blackness—you don’t know why, but you seriously don’t like it. Maybe not a phobia or fear, but still. You’re more uncomfortable than most in the dark. “I usually use my phone flashlight to find some candles, and light them. And then I read by them until I go to bed, and hope that the lights will be back on in the morning. Why?”

She wrings her hands, an adorable gesture on a six year old little girl. “Do you know where our candles are?” she asks, not really answering your question. You remind yourself that she is six before answering, instead of getting pissy about the slight ignoring thing going on.

“No, I don’t. Why?” you ask. “I can go find them if you really, really need me to.” You groan internally. You were really getting into the groove of your homework.

“Because,” she says, then gestures you forward with one of her small hands. You obligingly lean down, and she tiptoes to whisper in your ear (way too loudly, ouch), “I’m kinda afraid of it.” She pulls away and frowns at you. “No telling anyone though, okay?” she adds.

You give her a small smile, reach over and ruffle her hair some. “Of course I wouldn’t tell anyone. It’s just our little secret. And also…” you lean in, confidentially like she had, “I don’t like the dark that much either, so we’re the same.”

She looks at you with wide eyes, and you’re pretty sure that it’s due to the fact that probably no adults ever admit fears or faults to her. She probably thought you were incapable of having fears, or some shit like that. “Really?” she asks.

“Really,” you confirm.

Almost immediately, she grabs your hand with hers—more like two of your fingers, actually—and pulls at you. You almost sit there and let her fruitlessly tug at your arm, but then you decide that this probably isn’t the time, and instead get up and follow her like she seems to want you to.

She pulls you into her room, and you don’t get what she’s pointing at. But then you follow her finger to the plug on the wall, and the adorable little lizard-like nightlight on it. Probably a salamander, considering the girl’s tastes.

“It’s my nightlight! I use it because then it’s not so scary in the dark before I go to bed,” she says. It looks like one of those ones that automatically turn on when it gets dark. “My daddy got it for me for my birthday last year,” she says. Aw, that was actually. Ridiculously cute.

“I’m sure he’s glad you like it,” you tell her, and she nods and grins widely.

“I do,” she says. “I also like spiders a lot, but they look creepier in the dark. So daddy got me the salamander instead.” She runs over to her bed and comes back with something clutched in her hands. “Look!”

It’s a black stuffed spider. Kind of adorable, kind of scary. Probably really soft, judging by the fur covering it. She must sleep with it at night, too; it’s well-loved and worn at the end of each of it’s legs. It looks like he’s had one of his eyes sewn back on, too. The thread is a slightly different color. It’s good enough that you immediately know that if any repairs were done, they were most certainly not by John.

“Did your dad give you this, too?” you ask, letting her put the stuffed animal in your hand. Stuffed bug. Whatever.

She shakes her head. “No, my mommy gave me that one. I really love it a lot. It keeps me company whenever I miss her.” She smiles widely at you, and snatches it from your hands to return it to the bed.

Oh, right. Her mother. You’re kind of glad she’s not older, otherwise you would feel a lot more about the shit you just said.

“Do you love your mother?” you ask softly. You can barely remember your own.

She pauses, looks at you from where she was perched on her knees on her bed. “Yeah, I do,” she says, then shrugs. “But mommy wanted to go other places, so we let her. She visits sometimes, though. It’s fun.” She smiles at you, then slips off the bed.

“I’m hungry,” she tells you, changing the subject abruptly. She probably didn’t even mean to, it was probably just her voicing her thoughts. But you’re glad for the change.

“Me too,” you agree, even though it’s a lie—you’re not, you actually are just really stressed about schoolwork and want to get back to it. But then you check your watch. “Shit,” you say without thinking, because it’s pretty fucking late and John’s going to be home in like an hour.

Okay, so this normally wouldn’t be a problem for you (despite the fact that Casey needs to be in bed like, five minutes ago), but. You’ve noticed over the past week, when John comes home, he’s just so tired looking. And then he cooks himself dinner and he’s half dead on his feet, and he makes sure you’ve eaten and done your schoolwork and Casey is in bed and generally a whole bunch of other things that he really doesn’t need to do but seems to be convinced that he has to do anyway.

He’s working himself so hard, basically, and you kind of wanted to give him a reprieve from that? You’re not a shit cook, and…well, you thought you could help out some.

Casey follows you out to the kitchen without another word as you start getting out ingredients. “You want some chicken and green beans?” you ask her, and she nods eagerly. Fuck yes, non picky childs are the best. Not to mention those are leftovers, so she can be in bed before her dad gets home.

Before John gets home.

Fuck, yeah, back to work.

—-

You can hear the sound of a key sliding in the lock just as you’re ladling spaghetti onto plates. The sauce is bubbling in a pan set on low heat to keep it warm, and you had already mixed in the meat.

Maybe not the best meal, no. It certainly wasn’t as creative as you could get. But you were kind of working on a time budget here (with getting Casey to bed and all), so it’s all you could do.

You hope John doesn’t mind. That maybe he appreciates it.

The door opens and closes, and you determinedly keep your eyes fixed on the two plates that you’re splitting the spaghetti between when he comes in.

"Are you wearing an apron?" Is the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

You groan and turn to him, still wielding your pasta-ladle. “Yes, I am, and don’t look at me like that, dumbass, I actually prefer not getting permanent sauce stains in my clothing.” What? You like actually being clean. Stains are a pain to get out of clothes.

He blinks, and you could swear he was going to make some sort of flirty comment about guys in aprons (so fucking overused), but instead he says, “I hope you’re not using that language around Casey.” He frowns disapprovingly.

You roll your eyes and shake your head. “No, I’m not teaching your six year old the wonders of the word ‘fuck,’ I swear,” you tell him dryly. Then, “how much sauce do you want?”

"What?" He asks, then steps forward to peer over your shoulder. This close, you can see the bags under his eyes; he’s so tired. He really needs to give himself a fucking break. You could probably do the same yourself with your college work, but you know you’ll be up until two tonight studying. What the fuck ever, you’re a hypocrite.

And it doesn’t help that you want John to…ugh, you don’t know. Recognize you? You’re not just a kid that watches Casey, and it bothers you that he might only think of you that way.

Not that you. Want him to think of you in a romantic way. Or sexual way. Right! John asked you a question, better get back to answering that!

You point with the utensil in your hand. “See the two plates there? Can you count in your head higher than the number one? Because it seems like that’s the amount of working brain cells you own. Either way, I will not be eating two different plates of pasta. Tell me how much sauce you want.”

He stares for a moment. “I was so tired I was probably just going to skip tonight because of the effort,” he says. Then, “I could kiss you right now.”

You turn to the saucepan hastily and start pouring the contents onto the two plates, dividing it up as evenly as you can. “It was the least I could do,” you tell him after a moment. “I just thought you deserved this.”

Fuck if you didn’t want him to kiss you, though. You really need some help.

You really, really wanted to kiss him. And it’s barely been a week! You shouldn’t be getting this worked up over a father whose daughter you are watching after classes every day! Cool it, Karkat, and quit letting your damn brain have it’s own thoughts before it starts controlling other parts of you to. Like your mouth, for example. Or your tongue.

“Either way,” you continue, picking up a plate in either hand and transporting them to the small little dining table, “I haven’t eaten either. It would be shitty for me to make myself something and not include you.”

“Language,” John says hurriedly, like he’s afraid Casey would overhear. He’s followed you with two sets of utensils—for the both of you.

“I’ve cursed like four times since you’ve gotten home, John. If she’s heard it at all, she would have heard it earlier, not later now that she’s probably passed out in bed.” You take a fork and twirl the spaghetti around the tines. Take a bite. Oh, that’s good. It looks like you didn’t completely fuck up this particular recipe.

“Damn,” you hear him say, and your head jerks up to see the man across from you staring at his spaghetti as if it is an enigma that holds the answers to all the universe.

“I didn’t even know you could curse,” you tell him intelligently, and he looks up at you. He’s not wearing the fedora anymore, and his hair is completely mussed and everywhere and looks perfect for burying your hands in. Which you are NOT going to do. “Don’t look at me like that!” you defend. “You’re the one that’s constantly rambling on about ‘but my poor baby’ no matter how close she is to being able to hear what’s going on in the next room!”

He points his fork at you. “I’ll have you know that I grew up with Dave Strider, Karkat,” he tells you. “And that should be enough of an explanation for you as to why my language becomes perfectly foul. When there’s no one to hear me.” He blinks a little, tilts his head to the side as if he’s surprised by himself, or something he just said.

But he doesn’t answer your questioning look, instead just shakes his head and laughs, and his smile brightens the room, you fucking swear.

“Either way,” he tells you. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, and you mean it. You would do all you could to help John out, especially when you can tell he’s been spreading himself too thin. It looks like he’s trying to do everything at once and it’s just not working because he doesn’t actually have that ability but it’s not your right to butt in on any of that shit. So you’ll have to help however you can. And if that way is in making dinner at nighttime? So be it. You’ll become a fucking culinary genius.

“Favorite movie.”

You jolt a little in your seat before looking up, eyebrows furrowed a little in confusion. “Excuse me?” you ask.

“Favorite movie,” John repeats before taking another bite of spaghetti. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows it and continues. “I wanna learn more about you. Past just knowing that Dave recommended you so you’re trustworthy, and you make an awesome spaghetti.”

“Oh.” You blink before actually starting to think about this, because you realize that this moment might actually be John interacting you as someone his age, instead of a college student several years his junior. “Ella Enchanted,” you decide on, satisfied with your choice.

John just laughs at you, and holy shit his voice is melodic like that, not derpy at all the way it should be but deep and pure sounding and wow. “Ella Enchanted? Are you serious? Isn’t that movie for teenage girls?”

You have lost some respect for this twerp. “No,” you tell him slowly. “Ella Enchanted is a wonderful story about a girl who wants to find love but is fated to destroy it when she does. It is heartwarming and beautiful.”

“You put too much stock into children’s movies.”

You lean across the table to punch his shoulder.

“Ow! Woah, jeez, no need to hit!” he tells you, and frowns. “I hope you’re not teaching Casey any of this.” He sounds actually worried some, and you grimace slightly. You’re an ass, you really should work on that.

“No, I’m not,” you tell him. “I swear.”

For a moment, you think he may argue with you. Instead, he just smiles, and you two ask each other questions well into the night.

You learn that John loves Con Air and Nicolas Cage and John Cusack.

You learn that he actually likes watching his daughter’s Disney movies with her.

You discover he’s overworked and overstressed, maybe as much as you are about your homework. You hope he doesn’t get the permanent bags that you possess.

His favorite color is green.

He tells you that he tries his very fucking best to be the greatest father for Casey that he can be, and you think that maybe, just maybe, he pushes himself a bit too far sometimes.

—-

The next afternoon, John is running late for work. He almost careened into the entertainment center and brained himself while trying to pull on socks, and while buckling his belt and running to the kitchen to grab his suitcase (seriously, John, a honest-to-God suitcase?), he almost trips over his daughter.

“Karkat!” he shouts, and you were about to get settled down to do your work before Casey started bothering you to play but you shoot right up at his voice. Fucking shit. You don’t know whether to be mad at him or ashamed at yourself for responding so quickly.

“What is it?” you gripe at him. He has the door partway open, and he’s looking at you worriedly. “I haven’t forgotten anything, right?” he asks you anxiously. Wow, what a time to become self-conscious. When almost late for work.

You glance him over and nod. “You’re good,” you tell him, and he sighs in relief. Your eye catches something at his collar.

“John, wait!” you call after him hurriedly, cursing yourself for not noticing the first time.

He stops, and turns around. “What?”

“Your tie is crooked.”

“Oh.”

You look at him for a moment, and he stares at you back, except he’s looking down on you because he’s taller and that’s not fair. But fuck. Right. Tie.

You step forward and undo it—he had gotten the knot all fucked up—before retying it, then tightening it so that it wasn’t completely off to the side and awkward looking.

“I didn’t know you could tie ties,” he says, and you glance up to see him grinning down at you, blue eyes sparkling. Fuck, eyes should not come in that color.

You sigh some. “My dad used to be a preacher,” you tell him simply. “I learned how to do a lot of stuff like this from him.” You step back and observe your handiwork. Much better. “Okay, now you’re good,” you tell him again, and he grins widely at you.

“Thanks, Karkat,” he says warmly, and then he’s out the door and it’s clicking shut and you’re still standing there staring at it.

You had thought that the little ‘hey this guy is hot’ thing would go away by now. Instead? You’re feeling it more and more by every word that comes out of his dorky ass mouth.

“Mister Vantas, are you okay?” you hear Casey say, and you start at the feeling of her hand on one of your pants legs. “You’re red. Do you have a fever? Daddy says you turn red when you have a fever.”

You’re going to jump off the edge of an extended diving board straight into the dumpster like where you belong.


	3. Stressed-out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat's overworking himself, and it needs to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has taken forever, but here it is. This chapter will be in two parts, with the second one up as soon as I finish typing it (hopefully not three months this time). 
> 
> So here, have some stressed-out Karkat.

You’re starting to wonder whether or not you’re actually cut out for this, because things are finally starting to add up and get to you.

It’s not that Casey is a little she-devil, or you’re shit at watching little kids. It’s the opposite, actually--Casey is one of the sweetest little children that you have ever met, and you don’t even _like_ children. You actually _enjoy_ spending time with her, and it surprises you when you first notice the muscles in your face relaxing some every now and then whenever Casey does something exceptionally sweet or adorable. So no, it’s not the babysitting thing, even though sometimes you get frustrated despite yourself and have the urge to rip your hair out in huge chunks straight from the roots.

It’s just.

It’s just so many _other_ things fucking with your ability to retain the semblance of a functional human being. It’s school. It’s homework. It’s the fact that there just aren’t enough fucking hours in the day for you to do everything that you need to do, not with school and Casey and studying. So much fucking studying. It’s _John_.

John, whom you have no doubt that you have the hugest fucking crush on (like a freaking teenager, what even) and yet can’t do anything about. He’s your _employer,_ technically. No amount of dinners or tie-fixing will change that. Not to mention the fact that he’s probably the same age as Dave, which means that he’s around eight years older than you.

Eight _years._

And, well. You’re just kind of not good enough. He has a kid and a stable life and a good income and you’re just a college student, struggling and stumbling around like a blind puppy just waiting to get its nose hurt from sticking it somewhere it doesn’t belong. You’re broke and bitter and ornery and have a crush the size of a continent.

You’re so fucked that even your peers are starting to notice it. When Sollux asks you about your job (how did that information even get around), you actually have the audacity to practically _blush_ before giving him the finger and telling him to go fuck off somewhere else.

“Go insert your annoying, lisping ass somewhere that it better belongs--far fucking away from me,” you gripe at him.

He just raises an eyebrow at you, the double tone of his glasses making the effect weird as hell. “You totally didn’t answer my question,” he points out. “Is there something wrong with the guy you work for?”

“No,” you snap back far too quickly and damn it all, he noticed.

The moment you see the light in his eyes (he’s wearing glasses, but you swear you can see it) you’re trying to grab your books and make a break for it to--well, _anywhere_ other than this conversation--but he doesn’t let you. Instead he calmly picks up your phone and pockets it, then watches as you sputter in indignation before giving him the stink eye, sitting back down. He knows you can’t go anywhere without that thing, the cheating little fucker.

“So,” he says, and you have half a mind to lisp meanly back at him, but you refrain, if only because it might get this whole thing done and over with sooner. “What’s his name?”

Shit, they know literally everything else about your job, but not your employer’s name? Wow, someone did terrible with their information gathering. You decide to attempt feigning ignorance at what he’s implying, even though it’s pretty much impossible at this point.

“His name?” you echo back, voice as blank as possible. “Who? The guy I babysit for? His name is John, if that’s what you wanted.” Your face doesn’t betray anything, you don’t think.

But then again, you’ve always been shit at poker.

Sollux smirks triumphantly and jabs his finger at your chest. “Yes. _That_ guy. You are so fucking head over heels for him I can see it a mile away. You’re pining, KK. What did he even do?”

You grab his finger and bend it backwards before releasing him, letting him cradle the abused digit to his chest. “He didn’t do shit except be nice and offer me a place to sleep. And be attractive as hell. Except he’s like, eight fucking years older than me.” That’s the kicker.

“And?” Sollux raises an eyebrow (again, weird as hell with his terrible eyewear).

“And,” you repeat impatiently. “He has a daughter. A _daughter._ He had a _wife_. I am a broke ass college student who is staying in his house just to make sure his child doesn’t somehow burn the building down. I am not a romantic interest and never will be.”

“You need to get laid,” is his only comment.

“Fuck you in the ear with a food encrusted fork, Captor, that’s not the point I’m trying to make!” You’re having trouble keeping your voice low enough so that you’re not attracting a shitton of attention.

“What was it, then?” he challenges.

You’re grinding your teeth. You really need to stop that habit, or you’re going to end up needing dental work done. “It _means,_ ” you grind out. “That it’s not going to actually happen so I need to stop thinking about it.”

Sollux seems thoughtful for a moment, almost. You’re almost convinced that he may be actually about to say something useful when he just goes, “Well then, that’s probably going to suck for you. Considering you see him every day and all.”

All you’re able to do is throw up your hands and groan in exasperation. You give up.

“I still say you should try to seduce his ass, though. You might be surprised, despite the completely negative mood you’ve put yourself in. You always assume the worst is going to happen, KK. That’s not always true.”

Okay, maybe your friends aren’t _completely_ hopeless. Just mostly.

You get home and just have just so much fucking homework you might literally drown in a sea of papers, study materials and pen ink if you’re not careful. You prepare yourself for a long night like you always do--seriously, you don’t think that you’ve been to bed before two in the past two weeks straight, weekends included. You’ve even taken to trying to get work done while watching after Casey, even though you used to play with her and she’s obviously disappointed that you can’t anymore. You’re such a sap for that kid.

The problem being, is finals.

They’re close--almost terrifyingly so, and even though they’re only technically  midterm exams you’re about ready to shit yourself in fear. You can _not_ afford to fail. You study your ass off but you’re barely making B’s and C’s, and you just do not have the money to retake a class if you don’t pass it the first time.

C’s, you can live with. Being forced to retake a class would destroy any chances or hopes of you actually obtaining a degree. You flat-out can’t pay for it.

So when it comes to about a week before your exams, you are completely panicking. You’re totally very subtle about it, in the form of loud, verbose rants to peers that inevitably ignore you because of their lack of interest. And then you get home and delve into your homework, struggling to keep from breaking down and continue your studies.

You can’t afford to fail. You can’t.

Casey gets put to bed after you make her a quick dinner and heat something up for yourself--usually you’d make something for both you or John, or at least wait for him (you still made sure there’d be leftovers of Casey’s meal, to throw it in the fridge for John, but you wouldn’t be there to eat with him). However, you can’t afford that luxury right now, not when you need to be studying sciences.

So instead you bring a bowl of poorly-mixed box mac and cheese to your room (John’s guest room; it’s not yours), set it down next to your keyboard, flop down into the dumb little swivel chair that you brought from your own apartment--it was so important to you for practically no reason, you just couldn’t help it--and look at your desk.

It’s completely covered with papers; you’re not even going to be able to put your bowl on their to eat. The entire thing is covered with shit--spread out and organized in a way you want it, but there are still papers almost falling off the edges of the desk. There are stacks of notes, projects, essays, and more, all organized as neat as you could fit onto the tiny surface area, sorted by class. On your bed is the rest--all of your textbooks open to pages, sticky-noted up, and taking up all the room. You’ve been sleeping on the floor; your blanket and a pillow is down there next to the actual bed.

Not that you’re going to use it tonight.

It may be a Friday night but that does not mean that you can afford not to study. Exams are about to start and you have to know everything--you already know that half of your testing will be on the stupid _details_ instead of what is actually important. You might as well just memorize the whole damn textbook and recite it back to your teacher. Actually, maybe not because you’d probably _still_ miss stuff that they’d expect you to know.

Your stomach hurts. It’s so much work and your breathing is short and you think you might be panicking because holy hell this is the most unreasonable shit that you’ve had to do since you don’t even know when.

Shit. Calm, Karkat. Just take a deep breath, you’ll be fucking fine.

You take a bite of your dinner, swivel back to look at the notes on your desk. Grab a stack (thick as hell, fuck, it’s gonna take you hours to get through this alone and you wanted to cover at least half of what is on your desk tonight), and start to look through it.

Your eyes are swimming and you can barely concentrate. You’re exhausted--you’ve been living off of probably three hours of sleep a night, max, and you know you’ll be pulling multiple all-nighters in a row next week.

But you’ve got this. You can’t afford a rest. You can do this.

You prepare yourself for a long night.

\---

You arrive home later than usual, practically exhausted to the point of barely being on your feet as always, but still looking forward to whatever meal Karkat has prepared for you. Talking to him these past nights have been an amazing break to your sanity--it’s someone who wants, is _willing,_ to listen and seems to like it, and it really means a lot to you!

Getting to the kitchen and seeing that he’s not there scares you more than you’d like to admit. Why isn’t he there? Is something wrong? Did something _happen?_

This has you shrugging your suit jacket off hurriedly, hanging your fedora on one of those dumb coat jacket hooks next to the door along with it. You set your suitcase down next to it before hurrying to Casey’s room, silently opening the door and looking in, heart pounding with the thought of _what if she’s not there and something happened._

But she is. Your daughter is curled up with the stuffed spider her mother gave her, faintly illuminated by her little nightlight. Okay. So she’s fine.

You shut the door quietly as possible before turning back to Karkat’s room and--oh. There’s light streaming out from under the door, and you can hear paper shuffling inside. You feel a pang inside your chest, a moment of hurt that you quickly shake off because you are an adult and you have no right to be upset that your hired babysitter didn’t wait in the kitchen for you with dinner.

...it sounds a lot worse when you put it like that, wow. You are a terrible person.

Instead, you trudge to the kitchen by yourself, resolving not to bother the other in what is presumably his studying. You don’t think he’s ignoring you on purpose--you know midterms are coming up. Your own students are scrambling frantically to study and get ready for them.

You loosen your tie as you make your way to the refrigerator, and hum as you open the door to find something to make for yourself--no point in skipping dinner just because Karkat hasn’t made you anything.

Except, oh.

There’s a plate of food covered in saran wrap right there, with your name written in messy all-caps Sharpie on it. You can’t help the slight smile that comes to your face at the sight--he still made you something.

You throw it in the microwave, continuing to valiantly try to ignore the way that you really wish that Karkat was here, eating with you instead of in his room studying.

But you’re not his entire world, you know that--not nearly. You’re just his employer, and he was honestly doing way more than his job entailed to make food and eat with you. Anyway, not even your wife had waited up for you the way he does. Not that you’re comparing him to her, you just--

Shit. You’re comparing him to her.

You realize this halfway through your meal, and you freeze, just barely keeping from dropping your fork and making the huge clang of silverware on plate. That cannot be a thing that is happening. It just...it can’t! You are a working man, one with a _child_ , for fuc-Pete’s sake and you do _not_ need to be fantasizing about a college student, whether he is of age or not!

Not that you’re _fantasizing_ about him, of course, haha. Just, you know, thinking about him way more than you originally thought you did and wow. You do think about him a lot. Even when he’s not around--you’re reminded of him constantly whenever you’re with your students. How could you not be? He’s one as well!

But you think about him all the time--the stuff he’ll tell you during your talks over dinner, how you’ve gotten to know him a little bit better every night. Truthfully, he is not a college student to you. He’s a peer--a very attractive one, at that, and--

No. No, bad John, stop thinking like that. You can’t afford those kinds of thoughts, you really can’t. It doesn’t matter how now you’re suddenly thinking about what it may or may not be like to kiss him after he does your tie for work (he’s started doing it every morning, insisting that you’re “shit at it,” and you realize that you’ve been doing it poorly on purpose for a while now just so that he’d have an excuse to fix it).

He’s eight years younger than you, and you think he may have been thinking about you romantically, too.

This is ridiculous. You have no excuse to be thinking romantically about someone so much younger than you. You shouldn’t, you know that--you’re at different places in your lives. It would be terrible of you to coerce him into a relationship, and that’s assuming he even swings that way or is interested in you in the first place! You really think he is, though.

You’re a lot less calm by the time you’re washing your plate and putting it into the dishwasher. You lean against the counter, taking a deep breath.

Okay, John. You have this. You’re an _adult_ , one with a steady, well-paying job and you’ve gotten by alone with Casey for years. You can handle yourself.

You push yourself off the edge of the counter, taking a deep breath and convincing yourself that you are much more composed than you had been a few minutes ago (the legitimacy of this belief is questionable). You’re tired. You need to just go to bed; you were practically swaying on your feet just half an hour ago.

As you walk down the hallway, you hear noises from Karkat’s room, and you frown. It’s approaching one in the morning—shouldn’t he be resting? He’s looked tired lately; it’s a Friday, you’d think he’d be taking the time to get some much-needed sleep.

You pause by the door for a moment, considering going in and saying something before shaking your head. You shouldn’t. He can take care of himself, you know that.

And then you hear a curse (you wince, you hope he isn’t exposing Casey to that kind of language), and a shuddering breath that sounds way less okay than you’d like. Alright. You’re going to open the door now. Because that sounds distinctly like tears and although you don’t want to bother him, you’re also not going to willingly let him sit in his room and cry over something—you don’t even know what.

When you open the door, Karkat doesn’t even notice you. He’s too busy being hunched over papers, but it’s obvious that he’s not studying them. That level of concentration must have flown out the window at least an hour ago.

Instead, he’s crying.

Your heart clenches. He really is crying, honest-to-God tears dripping off his nose onto his paper, and you swallow. Shit. That’s gotta be because of his workload, you can’t see it being anything else. He’s been stressing so much over it and yet still refusing to rest, studying to the point of exhausting himself and you’ve been letting him.

It’s gone too far with this. He’s exhausted. You’re putting him to bed.

“Karkat,” you say, your voice low and he jumps before turning to you with wide eyes, red and brimming with tears. He doesn’t even try to hide them, he’s too exhausted to think to. “Karkat, you need to go to bed.”

He narrows his eyes at you, sniffs. “You can’t fucking tell me what I need to do or not,” he says, and he sounds so ridiculously like a child that you can’t help rolling your eyes at the absurdity of it all.

“My house, my rules,” you tell him, equally ridiculously. He’s an adult, he can do whatever he wants. But you _are_ going to put a stop to this. “Now get up, you’re completely exhausted.”

He narrows his eyes at you and for a minute you think he’s going to argue again, but then, surprisingly enough, he sets down his papers in a very specific spot on his desk, and sways to his feet. Shit, the poor guy can barely even stand. You sigh and walk forward, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. “Listen. I know you want to study. I’m a teacher, I want you to study, too. But all of this is going to be completely worthless if you fail to take care of yourself. So go to bed. You’ll feel so much better with even eight hours of sleep, I promise. You’ll study better, too. Get in that bed.”

He’s staring at you, eyes glassy and dark bags under his eyes and you want to actually kiss them. Oh man, this is way worse than you originally thought.

“I can’t.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You what? Of course you can sleep, Karkat. You _need_ to.”

“I can’t get into bed,” he says, words slurred and this is just terrible, you should have intervened before now. He’s still sniffling and crying a little. “It’s covered in shit I need and I’m not moving it. I can get on the floor, though.”

You look to see what he’s talking about, and groan. Of course the little amounts of sleep that he’d been getting have been on the floor, with one measly blanket and pillow. His bed is completely covered in books and papers. That’s not going to fly with you this time. 

“Okay then, you’re coming with me,” you tell him, and he frowns, wrinkling his nose and shaking his head.

“ _No,_ I need to study!” he whines at you, and tears are welling up in his eyes, and you are dealing with a four year old. An adorable, attractive four year old whom you really need to get to go to sleep. “I can’t go to bed.” He pushes weakly at your chest, as if that’s going to do anything.

You frown in return. “You’re being ridiculous, Karkat,” you tell him, and wrap an arm around his waist. You’re fully aware of the close proximity this brings the two of you into, but you need to do _something_.

And. Well. It’s kind of shitty to you, but you wanted to know what it felt like to hold him, just a bit.

“Come on,” you tell him, and lead him out of his room. He’s swaying, stumbling against you and practically using you as a crutch so he doesn’t fall over. Yeesh. You lead him into your room, and push him into one half of the bed. It’s a queen size, you’ll be fine. He just needs to go the hell to sleep.

“I don’t wanna go to bed,” he whines again, and you roll your eyes again.

“And you’re not gaining anything from studying anymore,” you tell him. You undo your belt, lose your tie, kick off your shoes and pull off your socks, but don’t go any farther than that. Oh well, you can sleep in your shirt and pants. You don’t want to leave Karkat alone, not when he’s staring up at you all teary-eyed.

“Are you going to leave?”

The look on his face is completely pathetic, and it gives you pause. You can’t help but wonder who left him before, to make him look at you like that, like you’re going to walk out on him and disappear and never come back, even though he’s in _your_ bed.

It makes you want to crawl in with him and hold him close and reassure him that you’ll never leave, because who else is going to put him to bed when he overworks himself the way he has been? (Not that you hadn’t been doing the same thing to yourself, before Karkat started cooking for you.)

You can do part of that, at least. You pull back the covers and crawl in the bed on your own side—the both of you are still fully dressed. You can’t really bring yourself to mind. Especially not when—

“Karkat,” you warn.

“I don’t _care_ ,” he tells you. He’s almost immediately moved to mold himself to your side, throwing an arm over you and hooking an ankle around your own. He presses his face against your neck and he fits against you like he was meant to be there. Your heart lurches. “If I’m going to go to sleep, I’m at least getting this out of it.”

You chuckle weakly. “What, a cuddle buddy?”

“Yes.”

This is utterly ridiculous. This whole thing has been ridiculous. You shouldn’t let him do this—not after your whole conversation with yourself earlier. Not after realizing that he’s probably doing this because he feels something for you—whether it’s just an attraction, or an honest-to-God crush you have no idea, but people don’t just wait for you with dinner and do your tie every morning. It’s not a good idea.

But. Well, you want to. You haven’t—haha, you haven’t gotten to hold someone in your arms in years. You miss the touch, the affection. Holding Casey is different than holding someone your equal.

You can’t help yourself. You turn to face him, tuck his head under your chin and wrap an arm around him. Maybe, for this one night, you can pretend that this is okay. That you can be doing this without consequences.

“Okay,” you whisper softly to him. “Just go to sleep, Karkat.” You don’t kiss him. You don’t let your arms wander. You just hold him close to you, and you wait until his shaking shoulders subside and he’s drifted off before you close your own eyes, letting yourself drift off after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm literally so sorry that this has taken me almost THREE MONTHS to update this, but I've finally typed it--I've been typing so much stuff that I _haven't_ been posting. Maybe I'll get a bunch of oneshots up this week, right after AP exams! They're already written, so I hope I can get it done.
> 
> Anyway, if you have any questions, comments, things you wanna know, etc, leave me a comment or [an ask here!](http://scribeofjohnkat.tumblr.com) I'll get back to you as soon as possible. I hope you guys enjoyed.


	4. Café and Brunches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is determined to keep Karkat's mind off his work for the day. It ends up being a totally not-date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, I am utter trash and terrible for not getting this up (though at least I did put up the cuddle pile au). And then my laptop was broken and I could barely be on it, and then I got extremely sick for a few days and was in no mood to write.
> 
> But at least it's done now, right? So I hope you enjoy!

 You wake up feeling more rested than you have in weeks.

This in itself has to be classified as an actual miracle, so for a moment you’re concerned that you might have really just died of overwork through your studying and gone to un-sleep-deprived heaven. Damn, you hope that is a heaven that actually exists, because that is the heaven you want to go to when you die, if you are not actually dead yet.

You also wake up feeling a pair of warm arms around you, one pillowed under your head and another draped over your waist, keeping you close. It doesn’t take you long to realize that it’s John holding you.

You breathe out, silently. Holy shit.

Your face is pressed against his neck and you’re practically wrapped around him; if he was awake there’s no way he’d be able to move without moving you as well and waking you up. Unfortunately, this also means that more likely than not you will be unable to move without rousing him as well. You decide to take this time to evaluate the clusterfuck that has become of the past twelve hours of your life.

You can vividly recall everything you did and said, and you inwardly cringe at how much of it was embarrassing enough to make you wish that you could totally randomly spontaneously combust. Seriously, Karkat? Breaking down over fucking _homework?_ Making John cuddle you because you were being a child?

You’re a complete idiot.

“That’s not true, but good morning anyway,” you hear, warm breath in your hair. Aw shit, that would be John. You totally said that out loud and woke him up, didn’t you? You are a pathetic excuse for a functional human being. And you still haven’t even bothered actually removing yourself from him.

But then again he hasn’t removed his arm from your waist or his ankle from around yours, either.

“I am so fucking sorry,” is all you can think to say before you take one last deep breath (smells like John, all John—) and untangle yourself from him. You pull away to see blue eyes blinking down at you, and it actually takes willpower to fight down the initial urge that you get to kiss him.

He frowns at you, and you immediately feel worse for whatever you did to cause that because he had almost seemed _content_ earlier, relaxed smile on his face. “Karkat, it’s fine,” he tells you firmly. “I just want you to get rest. You really needed it, too—you wouldn’t have gotten another thing done last night other than dehydrate yourself.”

He’s right, but that doesn’t mean that you like hearing it. “I’ll have to get caught up today or some shit then, fuck. I didn’t get to cover half the material I actually wanted to and now I’m going to be up late as hell tonight and fuckfuckfuck I’m not going to have enough time-” You’re already starting to freak out, your words slurring together faster and less comprehensively until John effectively cuts you off with a stern look.

“No,” he says sternly. “No, you’re not going to get caught up today. I am not teaching today. I’m bringing you out to eat, you’re going to relax, and you’re not going to do any more studying until tomorrow. And no, you’re not going to change my mind in any way, shape or form.” He means it, too, you can tell by the look in his eyes.

Maybe he’s right, though, as much as you loathe admitting it. He’s a professor, and you’re pretty damn sure that he knows what he’s talking about. Not to mention the fact that you really honestly could use a break right now. You’re getting stressed just thinking about working, which isn’t a good sign.

And the way he worded it, you could almost see this as a date.

You need to quit thinking about John—Mr. Egbert—this way. You’re just digging yourself an even deeper ditch to fling yourself into after receiving your inevitable rejection upon him finding out about your stupid crush. It doesn’t matter how he was putting up with you or holding you last night—you were half delirious, he just wanted you to get the fuck to sleep. It doesn’t mean anything about how you are any other time.

“I—“ you start, half ready to refuse and call him an idiot for even trying to make you leave your studies, but then you hesitate. “Fucking fine. You’re never going to get off my back about it if I don’t agree.”

“Language,” he chides with a grin, “But you’re absolutely right, and I’m glad that you’re agreeing to come with me.” He reaches forward and you desperately hope you’re not blushing as he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. The movement felt automatic, natural, and his knuckles linger on your cheek for a moment before he tenses and pulls away. He’s not smiling anymore, and you wince.

“I’ll watch my language as best I can around your daughter,” you say flatly, in a frankly failure of an attempt to ease the sudden tenseness in the air. “You get absolutely no promises around anyone else.”

John rolls his eyes at this and then pushes himself up, and slips out of bed. “Go get dressed,” he tells you simply, changing the subject. “I’ll go take a shower and get you when I’m ready.”

You nod slowly, and finally push yourself out of bed as well—no reason to stay now that John’s gone. You’re almost out of the room when he stops you.

“And no studying, okay? Don’t even touch the papers, unless you’re moving them to get to clothes. Do you understand?”

You wrinkle your nose—he sounded like he was talking to a child. You’re not a fucking child. “I understand,” you say anyway, voice stiff, before heading out of his room and into your own (or at least the one you’re borrowing from him, you suppose).

Was this a date? You frown and force yourself to stop considering this. It’s not, and you have absolutely no sense of fashion anyways, so considering dressing nicely is a completely moot point. You just throw on a pair of ratty faded jeans and a t-shirt like you always wear.

From then on you’re stuck either waiting in your room, surrounded by the study materials that are honestly stressing you out, or going out into the living room and waiting there. Not exactly a very difficult decision to make.

John comes to the living room about twenty minutes later, holding Casey’s hand, distracting you from the dumb phone game you were playing and causing you to lose. Oh well, it’s not like you gave a shit about that game anyway (lies, you were about to make a record). You raise your eyebrows at John when you catch sight of Casey.

He somehow interprets your expression correctly. “I called Dave. We’re dropping her off there to play with his son while the two of us go out. I can’t leave her at home and I think she’d have much more fun with him than tagging along with us.” Go out. This guy really needs to watch his wording better; it keeps shoving ideas in your head and it’s driving you nuts.

“Sounds great,” is what you respond instead, shrugging your hoodie on and standing up.

Casey runs up to you and grabs your hand, and you almost fall over flat on your face as she suddenly pulls you forward—little twerp can knock you over if you’re already off balanced, but John’s just laughing at you like a heartless imbecile. No one is ever on your side, you swear. You let her pull you outside to the car, however, and she bounces up and down in front of the backseat door before John unlocks it from behind both of you, and she hops in. You head around the other side of the car, slipping into the passenger’s seat.

“Everyone ready?” John asks a moment later, glancing at you and then into the mirror to make sure that Casey was all buckled in.

You shrug and nod. Casey exclaims “yes!” so excitedly you think she has a slight chance of quite literally floating off her seat, except for the fact that she has a seatbelt holding her down.

Fifteen minutes later, John is slipping back in the car from dropping Casey off at Dave’s—it’s still so fucking weird that you both know him without having known each other until now—and glances at you for a moment. “Where would you like to go eat?” he asks you.

You check the clock. “It’s only eleven,” you tell him.

“You didn’t have breakfast, and neither did I,” he points out, and just pulls out of Dave’s driveway in order to head who-knows-where. “So unless you pick a place, I’m going to pick a place for us. You’re eating either way.”

You frown over at him. “You’re very fucking determined about this, aren’t you?” you ask. “You’re a stubborn ass. And before you ask, yes that was a pun, and it was a horrible one and I’m already regretting ever even considering letting it come out of my mouth.”

John is leaning over the wheel and snickering, and you are exceedingly glad that he’s stopped at the stop sign because otherwise you’d be afraid that he might accidentally hit something. “Holy shit, it was not that funny,” you tell him, slightly concerned and now worrying over whether or not he fell during work yesterday and acquired brain damage without telling you. He would have had to, considering how he literally let you sleep in his bed, is taking you out to eat, and now is laughing like a fucking lunatic.

He shakes his head at you, rolling his eyes slightly. “You’re adorable,” he says.

You freeze. “I am not,” is all you’re reduced to, crossing your arms exactly like…well, a child.

“Yes you are, and I’m not going to change my mind so don’t bother trying to make me.” He turns back to the road and starts driving again.

Well then.

You probably shouldn’t be trying to read into the situation too much, or overanalyze anything that he’s saying. It’s just your lovestruck addled brain trying to convince you of things that you are fully aware are a lie and will never happen. It doesn’t matter how attractive he is, or how much he calls you adorable; he’s still your employer and he’s still eight years older than you.

It’s stupid, how dumb you’re acting over all of this. It really is. And it’s even dumber that you can’t seem to make yourself stop. All you can do is keep it to yourself and hope that John never finds out. You don’t want to get fired. As much as you hate to admit it, you’ve gotten really close to Casey and are now firmly attached to her. It would crush you for him to kick you out now, in more ways than one.

“We’re here.” John’s voice jerks you from your thoughts, and you look over at him. He’s grinning at you—shit, why is his face so fucking pretty? That’s ridiculous.

You glance over to see a little no-name café—one of those nice places, though, the kind that couples go to on dates, or women get together to talk at.

“Casey loves it here,” he tells you in explanation. “Whenever her mother comes home to visit, we all come here as a family. I thought that maybe you’d enjoy it, too? They serve really nice brunches.”

Oh. He brings his family here? Like, his ex-wife and daughter?

This place has got to have a lot of emotional meaning for him; you can’t really believe that he chose to bring you here, of all places. But then again, maybe he just couldn’t think of anything else and he likes eating here.

You swallow and nod at him, then slip out of the car. The lady that seats you once you’re inside seems to recognize John. You figure this mostly because she asks who you are, and mentions that she’s never seen you with him before. You have amazing deduction skills, you swear.

“He lives with me,” John starts by horrible way of making his explanation as awkward as possible. “He watches Casey while I work, and in return he stays in my spare bedroom and I make sure he has enough money to continue his college classes.”

You don’t try to smile. You have a feeling that you’d just freak her out—your smiles are not pretty. They’re always grossly forced and not very fun to look at in the least, you’ve been previously informed.

When the two of you sit down, John doesn’t bother opening a menu. You raise an eyebrow at him in silent question, and he shrugs. “I already know what I want,” he tells you simply. “I get the same thing every time.”

You frown and go into your menu, now wanting to hurry so as not to keep him waiting. Everything has those frou-frou café names that you’ve always hated. You can feel John’s eyes on you, and you’re pretty sure he’s doing that fond little smile thing he gets whenever he catches you playing around with Casey.

You end up picking out just a little sandwich (along with some coffee, fuck do you need it) by the time the lady comes around to take your orders—the same one as earlier; they must not have a huge staff—and you glance over at John once she’s gone again.  He’s still watching you.

“What?” you gripe, not really currently in the mood for playing games or anything.

He shrugs, still smiling. “It’s fun watching you. You look a lot better than you have all week, too. More relaxed.”

Aaaaaand now you’re kind of tense all over again. Dammit. You had managed to keep your thoughts off your homework until now (instead you’d been focusing on John being attractive, crap), but now they’re right back on it. He seems to be able to tell exactly what you’re thinking, judging by the look of regret that comes over his face.

“Oh man, I’m sorry for mentioning it again,” he apologizes. “I’m not sorry for bringing you out of the house, though. You needed that break and you needed it badly. I’m trying to help you as much as I can right now, and trust me when I say this is the best way.

And for some reason, you’re suddenly slightly pissed off at him.

Because seriously—break? You don’t take _breaks._ You just fucking deal with it, and study until your eyes bleed and force yourself to get a fucking A. You need the best grades that you can get, and not studying isn’t going to achieve it.

However, you also know that John is right, and that’s what’s making you mad. He’s right about you needing something to calm you down and cool you off, because at that point you weren’t getting any studying done. But the way he’s treating you makes you feel like you’re just any old student to him. And maybe you are, but it sounds like he’s just viewing you as a _kid_ and you’re not okay with that.

“I’m not your fucking child,” you growl at him, and he flinches back a little bit, smile faltering.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not a child, Egbert. I don’t care what you think—that I don’t take care of myself well enough, that I’m just a college student, that I’m too young for you to treat me like an equal—but I’m an _adult._ I’m letting you take me out right now just because I obviously had no choice in the matter and you insisted on being an ass about it. But I don’t want you treating me like I’m a kid to take care of, alright? I’m not as old as you but I’m still an adult.” You do your best not to raise your voice during this half-rant. You’re not entirely sure how well you succeed in this endeavor.

John’s staring at you with slightly wide eyes, so you know you’ve completely surprised him with your threatening rant. You don’t care. You just don’t want him to ever think that you’re just a kid to be taken care of. You’re not. You’re _not,_ dammit.

“Karkat,” he says slowly, biting his lip and _it’s so fucking adorable holy shit_. “I’m not trying to treat you as a child. I’m aware of the fact that you’re younger than me, yes. However, I also know that you’re an adult and you can make your own choices. I do not see you as simply a college student—you _are_ an adult and my equal, and as someone who cares about you I want to keep you from another episode like last night happening, okay?”

For a moment you think he meant how you had crawled with him into bed. Then you are reminded of how he caught you crying onto one of your papers. Aw fuck, that is honestly embarrassing as hell and you are now wishing that you could spontaneously combust for the second time today.

“Sorry about that,” you grumble. You hate apologizing for the most part, but you seriously do regret him having to see you doing that.

“Its fine,” he assures you, offering you a small smile. “I just want you to know that it’s important to me that you do well, too.  I don’t want to see you upset because you didn’t do well because you pushed yourself to complete exhaustion. Today is a rest day for you. Tomorrow you can study again.”

You frown. “I’m gonna have to sleep on the couch,” you grumble in distaste. You’re not going to move your books off the bed, and you feel bad enough for your embarrassing sleep-deprived self for forcing him to fucking _cuddle_ you to sleep. What are you, a touch-starved lovesick movie protagonist?

Apparently your sleep-deprived self seems to think so. Past you has no shame and is a complete idiot.

“You take my bed,” John tells you. You’re about to argue, but he cuts you off. “No, really. I want you to take my bed, and I’ll take the couch if me being there as well makes you uncomfortable, okay?”

You frown at him. He’s okay with sleeping near you after _last_ night? Holy shit, how does he not suspect anything?

…Unless he does, and is alright with it. Holy shit.

Except that couldn’t be the case, so you do your best do discard the thought immediately. The thought does not seem to want to be discarded. Fuck.

He seems to pick up on the meaning of your expression pretty easily. “I have a queen sized bed. It’s perfectly fine for two people, and we wouldn’t have to touch. Unless, of course, you are completely set on more cuddling.”

Your face is totally burning, you know it. “I—“

Suddenly the waitress comes by again, and she passes out your food and drinks with a smile, asking if you need anything before leaving again. What wonderful timing. Now you can dig into your food and pretend that you were not just having an extremely embarrassing conversation.

John does not seem to be thinking the same thing. “I haven’t been able to be close to anyone for a few years,” he admits, and you suddenly get the feeling he’s about to say something heavy. “After my wife left me four years ago, I haven’t dated at all since then. No time—I have a daughter to take care of, you know? And to be honest, Dave and Rose and Jade are my only friends that I am close to, and out of all of these Dave is the only one that actually _lives_ near me. That makes for not a lot of personal contact.”

That was actually…incredibly sad to listen to, holy shit. You don’t think you could imagine it. No dating, very little hugging or intimacy for four years. Of course you could easily do it if you had to, but…yeah, it would pretty much suck.

He sighs, studying his food like the answers to his problems are hidden somewhere in there. “It kind of sucks,” he says, basically repeating your last thought out loud. “I’ve always been the kind of person who loved to give hugs, be close to people, et cetera. So I guess what I’m trying to say is—I didn’t mind last night. You don’t have to be embarrassed about it. It was really nice. Unless of course you hated it. In which case I am so sorry for making you listen to this entirely awkward embarrassing monologue.” He finishes quickly, as if he suddenly realized what he was saying and is now mortified over it.

“No, no,” you tell him, shaking your head. Your cheeks are burning. “It was…nice,” you agree slowly. “I’ll stay away from the couch tonight.”

He offers you a bit of a grin, before _finally_ turning to his food. “Sounds good,” he says.

You end up spending the rest of lunch trying to figure out if there was any special meaning to literally any of the things that he said.

Because seriously, literally everything there that he said bordered the line of “this is no longer platonic.” You just have no fucking clue if you’ve actually crossed that line, or if you’re still tiptoeing across it like the world’s worst tightrope walker. You’re not exactly secretive and you don’t think he’s so oblivious as to not notice anything, but you can’t pick up on a damn clue if it’s waved under your nose like smelling salts.

So yeah, you’re pretty fucking distracted the rest of brunch, and John blessedly doesn’t bother you.

When the two of you get back into the car, John pulls out his phone and unlocks it before handing it to you and starting up the car. “Can you call Dave and put it on speaker for me?” he asks. You narrow your eyes at him, slightly cautious, but do as he asked anyway.

Dave answers on the fifth ring. “John?” he says. “You comin’ to pick up your kid now, or what? She and Nate are going to end up destroying the house at this point. By which I mean Casey is perfectly mannered and my son is playing stuffed animals with her. Fucking adorable.”

You snicker as John winces at Dave’s language—he’s probably worried Casey will hear it in the background. “Actually,” he says slowly, chewing on his lip as he keeps his eyes on the road. “I was wondering if Casey could maybe spend the night? I’m spending some time with Karkat and kind of trying to keep stress to a minimum.”

Casey never really stressed you out, you don’t think, but it was very true that she could occasionally be a pretty big handful. Either way, Dave answers before you get the chance to protest this question.

“Sure, man, anything for the two of y’all,” he says. You can practically _hear_ the insinuation dripping from his voice as he follows that up with “Now you two have _fun_ , okay?”

John rolls his eyes. “Sure,” he says, putting an amount of sarcasm into the word that you find surprising coming from him. “I’ll come pick her up tomorrow afternoon around four, okay?”

“Sounds great,” Dave replies, and then hangs up without saying goodbye.

You frown at John as he keeps driving, pretending not to notice the expression on your face. “You don’t have to do so much for me,” you tell him.

John glances at you for half a second. “Yes, actually,” he tells you. “Yes I do.”

Well, that gives you something to think about.

The rest of the day is you and John at home. You watch some movies—a few of his absolutely shitty ones, followed by some of your blessedly amazing ones—and then just kind of sit on his couch and talk together. It’s a lot like something you’d do with any other friend, and you actually forget about the fact that he’s so much older than you every now and then.

You never forget how attracted you are to him, or how much you want to take his stupid little face between your hands and kiss him. It’s starting to become a huge problem; it really is (like it wasn’t before, ha-fucking-ha).

He helps you make dinner that night. You don’t make anything extremely fancy; just cook some chicken and vegetables and try to make it generally healthy enough to match John’s standards. It’s kind of just something that’s quick and easy and he seems to really like it despite all that.

You’re washing the dishes (he’s drying them and putting them away next to you so you don’t have to bother with the dishwasher) when you finally decide to speak up about the day. “So, John…” you start, like the useless eloquent sack of shit that you are.

“Yeah?” he asks, seemingly patient enough to wait for you to actually figure out who took your tongue and tied it in a knot.

You take a deep breath. “I just wanted to say thanks for today,” you grit out all in one breath. “It really did help and I feel a lot less shitty about school and I’m not half as stressed and I’ll probably actually be able to stare at my notes long enough to at least attempt absorbing some of the information tomorrow.”

John just kind of smiles at you some. “You’re welcome,” he tells you. “It was my pleasure.”

It was definitely yours, too. Fuck, you’re a sappy piece of shit who should honestly be incarcerated for some of the horribly diabetes-inducing thoughts you’ve been having lately.

When the two of you get done with the dishes, John pretty much insists on both of you going to sleep. He doesn’t want you to stay up late; he wants you to “get a good rest so that you can study well in the morning.” Shit, he’s too much for you.

You follow his instructions anyway, and when you get back to his room in an extremely poorly fitting t-shirt that hangs off your frame like a potato sack you find that he’s waiting for you already, lying in bed on his side. You’re suddenly extremely shy of him, and he seems to notice this.

“If you don’t want to be here, then I’ll get out the couch,” he offers, but you shake your head. Your ears are probably red as an undercooked steak, but you’re determined, anyway. It’s only partly because you really really _really_ want to have the chance to actually cuddle with John like you had the night before. It’s also because of what he had said during your meal together that morning—how he missed touching people, and he actually enjoyed last night.

Okay, so maybe you mostly really want to have the chance to be close to him. Sue you. You climb in bed anyway.

“Hey,” John says with a soft smile, and you just shake your head.

“How fucking eloquent of you,” you tell him, and he laughs some. You absolutely refuse to make up any romantic quips about the sound of his laugh.

John reaches forward and pushes your hair out of your eyes, and then you’re suddenly tired—you can feel your eyes droop, like you’re going to fall asleep any second now.  He stops playing with your hair and instead wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you close in order to cuddle you and hug you.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t cuddling the hell out of him right back as you drifted off to sleep with him. You doubt you’ll regret it in the morning.

One thing is for sure, though—you’re barely awake, but you still feel his lips brush against your hair anyway before he drifts off next to you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't usually do end notes, but I did want to make an announcement! Other than my [regular blog,](http://minamiren.tumblr.com) I am also opening up a side blog, [scribeofjohnkat](http://scribeofjohnkat.tumblr.com) specifically to post chapters early, answer questions, and archive everything I've done (including a few things not on ao3 yet, and may possibly never be added depending on how lazy I am). Feel free to follow me at either blog, and I'll be sure to answer any ask that I get!
> 
> I'll also be taking small drabble requests at scribeofjohnkat, though I will keep it up to me whether or not I decide to write every one of them--it will depend on how my motivation is and how much free time I have. Either way, feel free to leave kudos or comments on this fic, or asks on my blog and I'll be sure to get back to you as soon as possible! Thank you!


	5. Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat gets stuck in awkward situations way more than he should. Also, they both learn a little bit more about the other's history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so things actually get a little bit nsfw in here. And there is a lot of awkwardness. On the bright side, look at me go! A prompt update for the first time in pretty much forever, and it's gotten me to break 20k words, too! Go me.
> 
> Enjoy!

You don't end up falling asleep for a while. How could you? Seriously, John just had the nerve to press his lips against your hair, _kiss_ it and then fall the fuck asleep before you could angrily demand anything of him. Granted, you could be imagining things, somehow. He might not have done anything, and you could have just completely fabricated his lips in your hair like a desperate tool.

The more you think about it, the more your brain tries to convince you that it didn't really happen, and you were just making things up purely because you _wanted_ them to happen.

So now you're back at square one. Great. Fucking peachy.

It's only then, completely confused and unable to figure out what was real and what was imagined, that you actually fall asleep. At least John's arm is still around your waist.

It's still there when you wake up, too. When you finally come to consciousness, John is nosing sleepily against your hair, thumb lightly rubbing fabric over your skin as he continues to hold you close. He really was being serious about the whole close-affectionate thing, damn. Unless he just wanted to be like this with _you._

It's a complete tossup with him, judging by what you know of his personality. Dammit.

"Morning, dipshit," you tell him, and you feel warm breath as he sighs into your hair at the curse word.

"Good morning, Karkat," he tells you, and you turn in his arms to see him smiling at you. "By the way, could I ask you something?"

You frown at him, suddenly on edge without even having a real reason why. "What."

"Are your ears pierced?"

Your eyebrows go up as your fingers touch your earlobe. "Yeah," you end up saying, narrowing your eyes like you fucking dare him to argue with you about it. He doesn't say anything, so you continue. "Both ears, and I have a cartilage piercing in this one," you tell him, tapping the hole. You haven't been wearing earrings around him, just whenever you went to school and shit. Don't want him to lower his opinions of you, as stupid as that is because these piercings are part of you, dammit, and you won't let them close up even if he doesn't like them.

"I saw when you shifted in your sleep and your hair moved away from your ear for a bit," he admits. "You know, you really can wear them around the house. I don't mind and neither will Casey. She's just not allowed to have any piercings other than her earlobes until she's quite a bit older."

You nod slowly. It would be a lot easier to be able to just leave the damn things in. At least John doesn't seem to mind.

You _know_ he doesn't mind when he leans in and whispers into your ear, "They'd look good on you. I can tell."

Dammit, you are so done with these guessing games. There's something going on here. There _has_ to be. Freakishly conservative looking dads don't just whisper shit like that into the ears of guys with piercings. He might...he might actually be attracted to you. Wow.

Not to mention the fact that the two of you have now been lying together, awake and with his arm around you for a bit longer than is strictly friendly.

You clear your throat. "I'm going to take part of today off," you decide, sitting up and causing John to have to take his arm away. You notice that he does so with just a bit of reluctance. "I'll study this afternoon, but we need groceries. Is there anything you want in particular to eat next week?"

John seems to think about this for a moment, and then shakes his head. "Nope. Everything you make is pretty damn great, Karkat. Seriously" Amazing. That was a not-G-rated word that just came out of his mouth. He's done it before, but it's still kind of surprising to you even if it technically shouldn’t be.

He leans over and grabs something off his bedside table—his wallet. He rummages around in it for a minute before he emerges with a credit card, which he hands to you before putting his wallet back down. "There. Use that to pay. I haven't paid you for this last week yet, anyway."

You could be an annoying piece of shit and argue about it, but you don't. This largely has to do with the fact that you just had two nights of good sleep in a row, and the two nights took place in John Egbert's arms. Instead, you nod. "Thanks," is all you can get out.

Why are you so fucking bad at speaking whenever you're around this idiot?

Whatever. He's grinning at you and you're too busy resisting the urge to do something dumb (like kiss his stupid face) to try to figure out the answer to that question.

When you finally return two hours later, you remember that Casey is still at Nate's, the house is quiet and now that you've gone shopping you can get studying. (Never go shopping on a weekend; seriously, you were almost run over by two ladies and their shopping carts and you weren't even the damn guy who they were mad at. That shit is _lethal_.)

Great. Time to put things away and get your books back out.

It doesn't take you long to get everything pulled away—you and John have an agreement; as long as you're cooking, you can put things where _you_ want it. It's kind of frustrating as hell to get the spices that you bought to the top shelf considering you're short as shit and you were not gifted with miraculous tall genes that neither of your parents actually possessed, but you actually manage without cursing.

Okay, so you got very impatient and frustrated and lobbed quite a few creative insults at the spices that you are admittedly disappointed no one else got to hear. At least they finally got put away.

And now you can actually go to study.

You're in your room and settling down before you realize shit, you still have Egbert's card and it's probably best to give it to him now instead of accidentally forgetting later and have him think you stole it or some shit. You doubt that he even has the brain capacity to come up with that as a possibility of something that you might have done, but still. Better to get it to him now.

Your hand is on the doorknob to his room when you hear it. Deep breaths. Movement. A...soft moan and woah shit John was totally in there and he didn't know you were home and he was—

Okay, brain. Let's not finish that thought! Let's not vividly imagine what it would be like to match the _sounds_ that John was making with images of him stroking himself, hips canting into his hand dammit dammit dammit brain, no. Quit that. Fuuuuuuuck you are suddenly way too horny for this. Maybe you should just. Slip the card under his door? No, shit, then he'd obviously know what you had heard. That would be stupid as hell, you might as well open the door and watch him at that point—no, stop thinking about that.

You need to go back to your room, study for a while (haha, like you can study now, all you can hear now are the _noises_ John keeps making why the fuck haven't you moved yet you're an absolute creep), then come back and pretend that this whole trip never happened. Yeah, perfect plan.

Or it _would_ have been a perfect plan. If John hadn't chosen that exact moment to open the door.

“Uhm,” you say, intelligently. You had gotten so distracted with your own thoughts you hadn’t heard him move.

You let yourself review the situation in your mind for a moment. So basically, John just walked out of his room _after literally just getting off fuck he’s still in just his boxers_ only to see you. Standing here, staring at the doorway with wide eyes. Just holding his card in your hand.

This looks very incriminating to you and you currently have a lot of doubts that you have a chance of getting out of this situation with John still having even a decent opinion of you. Any ideas that you might be able to convince him that you _didn’t_ know anything turned the fuck around and nosedived out the nearest window the moment you caught sight of his expression. Not to mention both of you just went equally red, you’re pretty damn sure. John, at least, has certainly turned a fantastic shade of pink.

“I have your card,” you try again, holding it out to him. You’re still partially turned on, aren’t you? Fuuuuck, yeah you definitely are and John has definitely noticed, hasn’t he? This is just not going your way. You are going to lose all of this man’s respect and he is going to kick you out of your house and it was a total accident you even heard anything. Good luck convincing him that, fuckface. You probably look as guilty as a kid caught stuck with his hand in the cookie jar and crumbs on his face.

He takes it from you, slowly. “Thanks,” he says, and you can hear how his voice wavers. Wow, you are so fucking sorry it is not even funny. Not to mention that you _still can’t get those noises out of your head dammit_.

He clears his throat, and you jolt hard enough to ram your shoulder into the nearby wall. You are a fucking ballerina, you swear. Graceful as shit. “Karkat…”

“What?” you ask, cringing. You don’t know what you can say that won’t incriminate you further, so you don’t bother trying. At this point you’re mostly trying to accept your own fate, which is at this point most likely a fate without either John or Casey in it anymore.

It completely sucks because you know what he was doing and he _knows_ that you know that and _you_ know that he knows that you know and that thought is just getting way too confusing to continue, fuck.

John shifts slightly, messing with the card in his fingers awkwardly. “Are, uh. You okay?” he asks slowly, looking awkward as shit and basically everything right now is awkward as shit. All you can really do is nod slowly, making your best impression of a brain-dead tomato.

“Okay,” he says. Nods. “Then. Do you need me to leave the house and get Casey right now?”

Oh, _hell_ no. He was totally not referring to what it sounds like he was. Except for the fact that he totally was, which basically made you wish for the third time in recent days that you would randomly burst into flames and combust. This was probably the most embarrassing situation that you can imagine yourself being put in (except of course having actually walked _in,_ but you’re not even going to think about that).

“No, you don’t,” you say stiffly, your voice about as smooth as sandpaper. Getting off to John getting off? Nope. Not going to happen. And if it does you’re not going to just _let him know_ that it’s happening.

You don’t know what it means that he’s not just kicking you out of his house, though. You’re extremely fucking confused about that.

“Okay,” John says. Nods once, movement about as loose as a wooden board. “Um. I’m going to go ahead and say that this will probably not happen again, like, ever, and also we should probably not talk about this in front of Casey. Please.” _Why_ you would try to talk about him getting off in front of his daughter, you have no fucking clue, but you are totally way behind that plan.

You nod back, just as loosely. “Sounds good.” What else is there for you to say? “I’m sorry. It’s. I. Wasn’t expecting anything, that was a complete accident and I wasn’t being a creep, I fucking swear—“ Good job probably convincing him of the exact opposite, genius.

John shakes his head. “Don’t apologize,” he tells you quickly. “I believe you. I’m not going to…Karkat, I’m not going to kick you out or anything. Did you seriously think that I would do that?”

Your expression is totally guilty and judging by his face, he knows that.

He sighs, sounding exasperated. “I didn’t think you did it on purpose. I just—okay, I’m going to shut up and stop talking now, for the sake of both of our sanities, as well as your ears. Wow.”

You can’t help the snicker that you let out in response to this. “My ears are fucking fine, John.” And then you realize exactly how bad that sounds considering what they were _just fucking hearing,_ and you try to backtrack. “As in, I’m not mentally scarred or whatever. By your words. Um. Fuck.” That was so unsuccessful, you think you might just go to the nearest window and throw yourself through it alongside your previous ideas you could convince him of innocence.

John, thank fuck, doesn’t laugh at you or take your words wrong or get mad at you or any of the things that he could have been doing this entire time. “It’s fine.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m going to go pick up Casey anyway. She needs to come home, she’s been there long enough,” he decides. The words “also we definitely need a break from each other” are left unsaid.

You nod, say something about not getting himself killed on the way there because of his horrible driving skills (which are actually really good, he doesn’t drive insanely or like an old man), and then skitter off to your room.

You lean against the door once it’s closed, panting hard, clenching and unclenching your fists. Thank fuck all of that utter awkwardness killed any and all arousal that you had been experiencing previously. You sink into your chair as you hear the front door close, and stare at your papers until you hear the car back out the driveway.

You release a huge breath of air.

Okay, that was probably the most awkward conversation you have ever had and situation you have ever been in, shit. And that _includes_ the time you walked in on Sollux banging Aradia two years ago. (You want to just kind of bleach both your eyes and brain from that memory. Holy hell, and Aradia had just grinned at you and said “hi.” You can’t believe that chick, she’s got to be just as crazy as Terezi, you swear.)

You’re just going to end up staring at your notes fruitlessly until dinner, aren’t you? And you’re not even going to get to _make_ dinner to keep your mind off of everything; John always made dinner on the weekends. He said he still liked to cook, even if he didn’t have time on the days he had work.

You do actually get some studying done, surprisingly enough. This is mostly because John and Casey are gone for two hours, which leads you to believe that he brought her out somewhere for lunch, probably in an effort to not come home until he absolutely had to (which you can’t help but appreciate). You completely forgot to get something for yourself and are effectively hungry as hell. You’ll just wait for dinner, though—John’s cooking is honestly great and you don’t want to eat now and not be hungry later.

However, once John _is_ home, you are back to having absolutely no concentration skills. He keeps Casey from bothering you even once, and you _still_ can’t focus on what’s on the page. Instead, your mind keeps going back to those breathy little moans and you are so done with your life.

Seriously, you are the worst person ever. Someone come at your brain with a pair of tweezers, please, and take away that entire memory. You don’t care how, you’re just really trying to study and also _not_ be a creep.

You have a feeling that you are utterly failing at both of these things.

At least John hadn’t seemed that mad at you? He hadn’t yelled, hadn’t raised his voice, hadn’t even _considered_ kicking you out, apparently. You ended up getting pretty much the best case scenario out of what happened and you’re surprised as hell because with your luck, you never get the best case scenario. Ever. As in, life generally does its best to fuck you over at any opportunity that it gets.

You haven’t really gotten much studying done (it’s a miracle that you even got anything done, really, but damn you’ll take it) when John calls out to both you and Casey that dinner is ready, so the two of you better wash your hands and get to the dinner table.

This is going to be a disaster, isn’t it?

It’s pretty much just as awkward a dinner as you could have predicted. You and John don’t talk at all, and Casey’s chattering ends up filling the awkward as hell silence that has settled between the two of you. Neither of you can look each other straight in the eyes, either.

Jeez, you have no clue what to do. One thing is for sure: you are definitely not going to be sleeping with him tonight. You doubt that he’d invite you, and even if he did and you accepted (which you _wouldn’t_ ), there’s no way that either of you would be able to ever fall asleep.

You can’t help being slightly disappointed at this.

“Daddy, Karkat?” Casey suddenly asks, drawing your attention.

You say, “What” at the same time that John says, “Yes, Casey?” He doesn’t even correct her and tell her to call you ‘mister.’

“How come you two aren’t talking? Did you have a fight?” She looks extremely worried, like the idea of you fighting with John could be the end of the world. It occurs to you all of the sudden that you mustbe _some_ kind of parental figure to her when she follows this with, “Will Karkat have to leave?”

John and his ex-wife had probably fought just before she left for good. You suddenly feel like a sack of soggy shit for making her feel like the two of you had fought, even if you hadn’t really.

John, however, is more useful than you and your regretful cowering, because he shakes his head reassuringly. “No, sweetie, Karkat’s not going to be leaving. He’s just had a long day studying; I’m sure that after exams he’ll be more talkative.” Of course, blame it all on you. Whatever. As long as she buys it, you don’t care. Also, that excuse gives you multiple nights to be awkward as hell around each other. Awesome.

She nods, apparently having forgotten that John was avoiding your eyes just as much as you were avoiding his. “Okay. That’s good. I like it when Karkat is here. You do too Daddy, right?”

He glances over at you. You feel like there’s no air in the room because as innocent a question that was for her, it kind of wasn’t one for the two of you. Not after this afternoon, the night before and the day before that.

He nods at her, and smiles gently. “I do like it when Karkat is here,” he agrees. “I like it very much.”

You definitely do not get a warm, happy feeling in your chest at that. Nope, you have a heart of cold fucking stone and nothing is going to convince you otherwise.

Things continue to be awkward over the next couple of days, unfortunately enough. It’s just…the two of you can _not_ seem to have a normal conversation anymore. And it doesn’t help that you’re still making dinner for him and eating it with him whenever he gets done with work.

You just feel like you can’t _not_ do this, because you haven’t failed to do so since you started and you’d feel extremely bad if you abandoned him to eat by himself, even if the both of you rarely said more than a few words to each other.

It doesn’t end up getting better until the next Thursday, actually. Long story short, you were actually baking something—handmade, not from a box because you hate box mix and so does John, apparently—and Casey had decided to jump out at you and surprise you for fun.

Right as you were pouring the flour.

Long story short, you got covered in flour, she got covered in flour, and both of you needed to desperately clean up.

You had sent her off to get a bath—you could hear the water running, so you hope she was doing as you asked—and had cleaned everything up as best as you can. At least you’d already fed Casey, so she could just go to bed once she’s finished her bath. You quickly finish getting the ingredients mixed and done before peeling off your shirt with a grimace—okay, you totally just got flour all over again. Oh well, better than taking it off in your room. You don’t know how well even a vacuum would handle flour in carpet. It’ll be easier to clean right here.

So of course John takes this _exact_ moment to walk through the front door.

“I’m home—oh. Wow.”

You wince. The two of you are the kings of terrible timing, you swear. Neither of you could have worse timing when it came to walking in on awkward situations with the other. And he’s totally going to hate you for—

“Those are gorgeous.” Holy hell, his hands are cold. What did he do, plunge them into a bucket of ice water right before walking in the room? It was _not_ that freezing outside. He’s tracing his fingers over your shoulder blade, following the swirl of.

Well, you have quite a few tattoos.

They’re girly as hell, too, just a bunch of flowers starting at the top of your right shoulder and blooming across your side and upper back. But he’s right—they’re watercolor and you aren’t going to argue with him, because Porrim was good as what she did and your tattoo looks fucking amazing.

He clears his throat all of the sudden, though he doesn’t take his hand away. “Not that I. Um. _Promote_ getting tattoos or anything. But wow, Karkat, these flowers are beautiful.”

You bite your lip. “Thanks,” you say slowly. “They’re—they’re important people. In my life. My mom, my dad, Kanaya, Gamzee, Terezi.” He’s not going to have a clue who those people are, but whatever. He gets to know their names anyway, now.

John frowns, eyebrows knitting together as he studies the flowers. “Two of them are losing petals,” he says, touching the two next to each other at the top—red and orange. “Why is that?”

You swallow. “My mom and dad. They’re both dead. My dad died of cancer and my mom’s heart just stopped beating a few years before that with absolutely no cause. But they were great parents, and I loved them, and that’s when I started getting tattoos. The jade one is Kanaya, because she’s my cousin and was always there for me when I needed her. Gamzee is the purple one. He’s an insufferable piece of shit but I couldn’t get rid of him if I tried and even though us dating ended up being a complete disaster, I’m never going to forget him as a friend or otherwise. Terezi is the teal. It’s complicated, but I love her like a sister and she deserved a flower just as much as the others.”

When you glance back, John’s eyes are round behind his glasses as he studies your back. “That’s amazing,” he says, voice hushed. You can tell that a line between you has been crossed somehow, all of the sudden—you’re not going to be awkward together anymore after this. You don’t know how you can tell, you just _can._

“Thanks,” you repeat gruffly. “Nice to know you don’t think I’m some good-for-nothing punk or some shit just because I have piercings and a tattoo,” you add as an afterthought.

John shakes his head. “No, I wouldn’t think that. I know _you,_ as a person. I’m not going to judge you off of piercings and a tattoo. Though if I was, that tattoo is far too beautiful to be able to give me a horrific opinion of you.”

Well then.

You gather your shirt to your chest. Eugh, flour is still getting everywhere. “Look,” you tell him. “Casey scared me and four got all over both of us. She’s in the bath right now, and she promised to get in bed once she was done. Dinner is in the fridge, you just have to heat it up for us. I’m going to get changed real quick, and then I’ll come back and clean up the fucking mess.”

He rolls his eyes. “I got the flour, Karkat. Just go get changed and then come back and we can eat.” He finally takes his fingers away from your tattoo, and you nod at him.

“Okay,” you say, and hurry off to grab a new shirt, as well as throw this one into your hamper. Ugh, you’ll have to shake everything out before putting it into the washing machine, now.

When you come back, the kitchen is clean, your ingredients are all put away, saran wrap is over the two bowls you had been using, and John is sitting at the kitchen table with two plates and glasses of water, waiting for you.

You join him, and he smiles at you before the both of you start eating. It’s silent for a moment, but then John opens his mouth.

“My ex-wife,” he starts, completely out of the blue, “was the absolute opposite of how I am now. She loved adventure, was kind of crazy, and you’d probably think that she was a complete bitch if you met her. She and Terezi were best friends—that’s how I met her. Dave liked to call her ‘Spiderbitch.’ He never really forgave her for being the cause of Terezi going blind, though it was mostly an accident.”

Holy shit. “John, you don’t have to te—“ He waves you off, not letting you finish.

“No, I want to say this,” he assures you, and then continues. “The two of us got together in our junior years of college. We both loved Nic Cage—don’t say anything—and I loved how…well, crazy she was. She was fun as hell to be around, and I was completely in love. We ended up getting married two years after that.

“It was all fun and games for the first few years. We found a house—this one right here, actually—and everything was great. Until she got pregnant.” He takes a deep breath, gripping his fork hard enough that you can see his knuckles turn white. “It was an accident. She didn’t want kids. She didn’t _wan_ t that kind of family. I did, but she didn’t and I was ready to wait until she was ready for one—it’s obvious to me now that she never will want that, but I thought that she would come around then—except something happened and she got pregnant. It really was an accident.”

He shakes his head. “She asked to get an abortion, but I _begged_ her to carry the child until it was born. Maybe if she had a kid, she’d grow to love it enough to want a family the way I did, right? Well, she finally agreed. Said if it made me happy, then she wanted to. And then she gave birth to Casey.

“I fell in love immediately. How could I not? I’d always wanted a baby girl, and there she was, in my arms, with her mother’s pretty blonde hair, and blue eyes like the both of us. Vriska really loved her, too. She definitely loved her, just like she loved me, but…” He makes a face, taking another deep breath. “She’s not that kind of person. She’s adventurous, not for emotions, and _definitely_ not for family. She wasn’t one for cuddling up and settling down and sweet kisses and romance. That was _me_. She loves gambling and had too many irons in the fire—her favorite phrase—to deal with a husband and child. A husband, she could do. She couldn’t do both.

“She left me. She stayed for a while, yeah. But two years after Casey was born, she told me that we were going to get divorced. There was nothing I could do but to agree. Why would I make her stay if she didn’t want to? She still loved me, yeah, and I definitely still loved her, but she needed to go. She promised to visit, and she still does pretty often, but she still wanted to leave.”

You have absolutely no fucking clue what to say. What even _is_ there to say to a story like that?

John grimaces at your expression. “Sorry. That was a lot to dump on you all at once, wasn’t it?”

You shrug. “Yeah, it was,” you say honestly. “But I don’t mind.” You really don’t. You’re kind of _glad_ he told you, in some weird way. He trusts you enough to tell you. He _chose_ to tell you, and you can’t help appreciating that.

He shrugs some and offers you an awkward smile. “I haven’t done any dating or anything since. I’ve always wanted to be like my own father, and, well…people don’t really date single dads. Even if they did, I’m just so busy with Casey. I don’t have the _time_ to be dating. I don’t want her to have to deal with that, either—a parent that she maybe doesn’t like, or someone that doesn’t love _her_ in return.”

Was that a warning to you? Telling you to back off, because he wasn’t going to go for you even if he _did_ like you?

He continues on. “But…Casey really likes you, Karkat. I’m glad of it. I didn’t want her to have a babysitter that she hated, or who was mean to her. But you’re actually really great to her. And you don’t seem to care that I’m eight years older than you and with a child.” His gaze is steady, even though his ears are slightly pink—he has no doubt that what he’s saying is true.

You consider denying it for a moment—consider going, “what the fuck, how the hell could you get that in your head, how about I take it and shove it up your ass where it belongs, considering the fact that it is complete _shit_ ,” but you can’t bring yourself to say it. Instead, you shrug helplessly.

“Casey’s asked me if she could call you Papa before,” he continues on. “She really loves you. Enough that she considers you a parent.”

You blink. You have absolutely no idea what to say to any of this.

He suddenly gets up, pushing his chair back and grabbing his plate. Wait, when the hell did he finish that? He was talking the entire time! You’ve barely even eaten half of your meal. “I’m going to go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning. Good luck on your exams.” They start next week for you. You’re freaking the fuck out, a little bit. At least you haven’t had any more meltdowns about studying.

“Thanks,” you mutter, and then he’s gone.

You certainly have a lot to think about now.


	6. Interrupting Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat accidentally does something and he and John really need to talk about it, but someone decides to drop by for a bit and now they can't get the chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have literally nothing to say other than I am so sorry that I didn't get this done sooner. I've been struggling a lot with writing lately and I don't know how to fix it. Thank fuck I managed to actually write this chapter, though. I can be proud of myself for that.
> 
> Thank you for all of the support you guys give me with your comments and things, though, they all mean so much to me and remind me why I'm still writing this thing.
> 
> Enjoy!! (Warning; fluffs)

You know that he said he’d see you in the morning, but. You were lonely last night, okay? You got used to sleeping in that bed with him, even if it was just for a few nights, and now you really want to do it again.

...ugh, fuck. You're really going to ask, aren't you?

Census says yes you fucking are, because your feet are moving without your say-so and bringing you right towards John's room. You really need to think things through more sometimes. His door is shut and you're not entirely sure it's worth knocking on and risking the embarrassment.

Yeah, whatever. Let's just get this shit over with. You rap on the door three times with your knuckles, trying not to sound too demanding or insistent and probably instead sounding like you were trying to bang down the entire door. You're bad at subtle. "John?"

A moment later—like seriously, no more than five seconds had passed—John opens the door. He's wearing a baggy T-shirt and a pair of boxers and was probably just getting in bed when you came and interrupted him. Great going, Karkat.

"What is it?" He asks, looking not at all annoyed with you and more...close to hopeful? Maybe it's just your wishful thinking.

You shift from foot to foot, suddenly unsure of how you could word this. 'Can I sleep with you?' Fuck, that sounds like you're just an absolute creep.

"Can I sleep here again?" you blurt out instead, like the incompetent waste of space that you are. "I just...it was nice. Those other nights."

John, thank hell, actually cracks a smile at your words, like what you had said was a purposeful joke. "Of course you can," he says. "As long as you want to. Just be careful, I might end up waking you up with my alarm. Go get your pajamas on and come back if you don’t think that will bother you."

You nod. Shit, did he say yes? Apparently so. You hurry off to do what he said without so much as a 'thank you,' because you suck. You get dressed quickly though, fuck studying because you did some earlier today and you can get back to panic-cramming for your exams later.

When you return the door is open but John isn't standing there, so you rap on it twice with your knuckles as you walk into the room. You're suddenly inexplicably nervous, child that you are.

"Shut the door and come in," John says, smiling over at you from where he's lying on his bed.

You definitely weren’t planning on leaving the door _open_. What if Casey got out of bed and saw the two of you or something? Actually…shit, what if she has a nightmare or some other emergency and comes in the room? What would she think? What would _John_ think?

You love making a mess of things by letting your brain completely run off without your control and do its own thing, don’t you? Worse still, John seems to be fully aware of this, because he doesn’t even look surprised that you’ve frozen in front of his door like an idiot. “Are you okay?” he asks quietly instead, and you just kind of shrug a little.

“What if Casey comes in?” you ask him, deciding to just go ahead and shoot for being truthful. It’s not like you can think up a lie right now.

He pushes himself into a sitting position, and just kind of…shrugs. “I’ll tell her we were cuddling or sleeping. It’s not much of a big deal. She’s not exactly going to freak out or anything if she sees us.”

You’re still hesitant. John’s obviously having none of it, because he just flings back his covers with a roll of his eyes. “Just get over here and come cuddle with me,” he tells you.

You bite your lip, hoping to fuck that you weren’t blushing (you probably were), and shut the door before going over to him. You crawl into the bed next to him and curl up under the covers beside him, in a manner that leaves you face-to-face with him, but not too close. You’re self-conscious, afraid you’ll make things awkward if you move to close to him.

John doesn’t seem to have this same fear, however, because he takes no time in sliding down under the covers again, and you’re _sure_ that he’s scooted so close to you on purpose. It _has_ to be a purposeful thing, because now his arm can wrap all the way around your waist, and he can tuck your head under his chin.

Whatever. You still give yourself over to the hug completely, leaning in close to him so that you can hide your smile. That you totally aren't making.

He rolls over onto his back, pulling you with him. You yelp in surprise as he easily moves you. You've wound up on top of him, and even though you're not quite as tall or big as him you know that you're still kind of heavy. You move to get off of him, but he holds you in place without effort.

"No, stay there," he mumbles to you, wrapping his arms farther around you to hold you close. "This is nice."

He blinks. "Unless...I'm making you uncomfortable, I guess? I'm not going to keep you like this if it’s too weird."

You push yourself up some on your elbows, resting them on the mattress on either side of John to take some of your weight off of him. "Is it okay with you? I know I'm not exactly the lightest dickbag to exist out there."

He laughs and shakes his head, reaching up to run fingers through your hair. You resist the urge to shiver. "Nah. You're not that heavy. More like...warm and comfortable. Secure, I guess? Kind of hard to put it into words, but it's there."

You roll your eyes and laugh. "You kind of suck at wording things, John," you tell him.

"I know." He's still smiling. Fuck, that _look_ in his eyes. It's killing you.

You seriously want to kiss him.

You almost do, too. He'd let you, you're absolutely sure at this point—he wouldn't have said all the things he did earlier if he wouldn't. You want to kiss him so bad.

But you don't. Last minute you break your gaze away from him, shake your head and rest yourself back down on his chest. John lets out a soft exhale—disappointed, maybe? You can't quite tell.

He doesn't say anything about what almost just happened, and neither do you—you just lie together, and feel yourself rise and fall with his breaths. It feels really nice. It's comforting, and you feel yourself drifting off to it.

You can feel John's lips in your hair too, kissing softly. You're sure you're not imagining it this time.

You find that it's welcome, though, and you fall asleep smiling.

* * *

The next morning you wake up to John's alarm. You haven't moved much, and to be honest you're getting extremely used to waking up in his arms. You're not sure if this is a good or a bad thing yet, but you can’t help but lean towards good.

John leans over you in order to shut it off, and frowns when he notices you blinking up at him. “Damn. I was hoping that I’d get to it before you woke up,” he mutters.

You roll your eyes. “I’m too light a sleeper to _not_ wake up to anything that loud and irritating.”

John pulls away from you in order to sit up, and you shiver. Fuck, it was actually pretty chilly without his warmth next to you. “I’ve got to get Casey ready for school, though. You can reset the alarm if you want to sleep in until you actually need to get up for class.”

You mull it over for a minute or so—John was willing to let you sleep in his bed without him, along with everything else?—but ultimately decide just to get up. “I might as well drag myself out of bed,” you groan. “Get some coffee or something.” You aren’t much of a morning person. Not that it’s much of a surprise to anyone who happens to lay eyes on you.

You get out of bed along with him and head to your room while he makes his way over to Casey’s in order to wake her up. Great, now you’ll all be having breakfast together, too, like a big happy family.

You freeze while pulling your shirt over your head. Isn’t that kind of what’s happening? If you start to-to _date_ John Egbert, you’re agreeing to more than a relationship with a professor eight years older than you. There’s his kid to worry about, too.

_‘She really loves you. Enough that she considers you a parent.’_

That’s what John had said Casey had told him. She already considers you a parent. And she asked if she could call you _papa_ , for fuck’s sake. You’re no parent—you’d be horrendous at parenting, you don’t know how to deal with wailing three-year-olds. Then again, you actually do like spending time watching Casey while you do your work in the afternoons, despite all the troubles.

No matter how you look at it, you can’t help thinking that the relationship might just be worth trying for. You’re utterly impaired by your feelings for John, dammit. Why did he have to be so attractive when he first opened that damn door for you? It wasn’t fair.

You shove your shirt on the rest of the way with a disgruntled noise and check over yourself to make sure you didn’t look quite as much like shit as you did before you changed before making your way into the kitchen. John was already there, popping some frozen waffles into the toaster.

“Casey’s still changing,” he says without turning around. “She’ll be out in a moment, though. Mind putting some plates on the table and pouring everyone milk?”

You put out plates, but you snort as you pull cups down from the cabinets—one small plastic one for Casey, and two regular cups for you and John. “Fuck _that_. You and Casey can have milk, but I’m getting myself some fucking coffee. Don’t even try to convince me otherwise.”

John shoots you a look, one that says _don’t you dare be cursing in front of my daughter when she comes out in a minute_ clear as day. “You can have your coffee, but you’re having milk too once you’re finished.”

“Fine,” you groan, filling two of the cups with milk before going to ready the coffee.

You hear a pair of tiny footsteps, and then turn around just in time to see Casey burst into the kitchen. Already fully awake. Damn children and their ability to have constant energy.

“Karkat’s awake!” she exclaims excitedly, sitting at her place.

“Yes, he is,” John agrees with her good-naturedly, waiting for the toaster to ding. “He’s going to eat breakfast with us this morning.”

She grins excitedly, and within a few minutes the three of you are all seated at the table. You have two cups, now; one with milk and one with your much-needed coffee. You hadn’t been able to argue with John about that one.

Casey babbles happily to the two of you while you all eat, John occasionally leaning over to make sure that she doesn’t get syrup absolutely everywhere. When she finally finishes and you’re doing nothing but slowly sipping on your milk now that you’ve already downed your coffee, he pushes back from the table.

“Okay Casey, grab your backpack. It’s time to go to school.”

She glances at you for a moment before looking at her dad with the most hopeful expression on her face. “Can Karkat come with us?” she asks.

Ugh. Fuck it.

You chime in before John can tell her that you’ll want to stay here to get ready for school or rest or something. “I’ll drive her, actually. If you want me to. She goes to that elementary school like five minutes from here, right?”

John hesitates. “She does. Would that be too much trouble?”

You shake your head. “No. It’s fine.”

Casey cheers and runs off to grab her backpack.

* * *

 

When you return from your own classes hours later, John is nowhere to be found. You do see a plate with a sandwich and chips on it set aside for you, though. Mmmm, you'll get right on that as soon as you figure out where Egbert went.

"JOHN?" You call out in a subtle voice that could probably startle the dead from their sleep.

John pads out of his room sleepily half a minute later, knuckling at his eyes. Fuck. You woke him up.

You make a face. "Shit, I'm sorry-" you start, but he raises a hand to cut you off and shakes his head.

"No, it's fine. I needed to get up to get ready for work, anyway. I'll take a shower while you eat and then we can talk for a minute, okay?"

You just nod silently and watch as he ambles off, still looking sleepy. Damn, you really want to go over there and spin him around and kiss him and cuddle him and nap with him. Except nope, nope, that's not happening, Karkat! You already know that. You cuddle with him at night, anyway.

You really should get your thoughts back on track. You need to just grab your sandwich and eat it while he showers.

You do that. You're sitting on the couch about twenty minutes later when John wanders back out to join you, settling down on the seat next to you. You glance over to watch him pull a jacket on that make him look even more like the stereotypical professor that he is. You can't help snorting, which of course is the thing to bring his attention back to you from wherever it was earlier.

"Something funny?"

You shake your head, despite your amusement. "Nothing but your face, but I'm used to that," you shoot. Because you're very skillful when it comes to not insulting people.

Like John was even possible to insult. He just laughs and shrugs. "Can't say I quite agree, but thank you. I'll take that as a compliment."

You roll your eyes but decide not to argue with that one. It definitely couldn't be considered as a compliment by any meaning of the word, but you'll take it. At least he's not offended. "When do you need to get going?" You ask him.

John checks his watch and hisses in a breath. "Like, right now," he says. You can't help noticing that he sounds legitimately disappointed. You're not imagining that, are you?

"Fuck," you sigh, disappointed as well, then freeze. Dammit, you don't mean to sound so needy. "But if you need to go, you better get going."

"Yeah, I guess..." He says, trailing off before standing up. "Will you go pick Casey up after school?" He asks, walking to the door.

You follow him, just because it's weird to yell at him from the couch. "Yeah, it's fine," he says. "I do most days." The other times, Dave picks her up to bring her to play with Nate, and John picks her up on the way home.

"Thank you," he says, shooting you a smile. His tie is off...like it tends to be almost every day.

You sigh. "Come here, you nerd, your tie is crooked," you tell him.

He willingly turns to you and presents you with his neck so you can get to his tie, as if he already expected it. He probably did. His tie was fucked up most days and you fix it every time. You're pretty sure he does it on purpose, but you're just as certain that you don't give a shit that he does.

You fix it, making sure it actually looks decent, then glance up before you tiptoe and lightly kiss him. "Try not to fuck up at work," you tell him.

He stares at you and you process what you just did.

"Fuck," you say eloquently, but you can't apologize. It's not like you're sorry—far from.

John blinks at the explicative, and then grabs your face and kisses you again.

You're pretty much overwhelmed by sensation immediately—John is kissing you over and over again and it's all you can do to wrap your arms around him and kiss him back. He's kissing you like he can't get enough, like he hasn't been kissed in ages, and _fuck_ because that's probably exactly the truth.

You're digging yourself into the deepest hole ever and you can't bring yourself to care because you are kissing John fucking Egbert. It's absolutely perfect and holy shit can this dork kiss.

Finally, John pulls away from you with a gasp. You whine helplessly and try to tiptoe for him again, but he takes a step back. "Karkat, no."

You blink before biting your lip. "I-" You don't know what to say. Your usual verbose way of speaking is suddenly gone, lost like it never existed.

John seems to see what you're freaking out about, because he shakes his head and grabs your shoulders. "No, not like that. It's just. I need to get to work and I'm gonna be late if I stay here any longer."

You blink. Lick your lips. Nod. "Okay."

"We can talk about this when I get home," he says. You're not entirely sure you should be looking forward to this. He hesitates where he is for half a moment, rocking on his heels before leaning in and kissing you one more time, then slipping out the door.

You stare as he leaves. Holy shit. You desperately hope that when you talk to him tonight he's...okay with all of this. Because if he's not, you're just about ready to rip hair out and punch walls.

* * *

 

The rest of the day that you spend waiting was pretty bad. Not that anything terrible happened. No, you got Casey home safely and she didn't bother you at all today, just ran off to go occupy herself with her toys in her room. You had plenty of time to go study.

But then at the same time...your mind is busier than a hive of bees after some fucker hit it with a stick. You're pretty anxious. And by "pretty anxious," you mean that you cannot concentrate for shit. It doesn't matter how long you have to study, because you're not managing that or homework. You're utterly useless.

You're really going to have to get your ass in gear soon if you don't want to fall behind in your studies for exams.

You've just managed to actually get started with dinner when you hear a key slide into the lock. Dammit. And here you were hoping to manage to finish making dinner before he got home. Not to mention you're wearing an apron.

You reluctantly turn around when the door opens. "Okay, I'm sorry, I didn't manage to start dinner until late so I'm about to throw in some pasta for spaghetti. Does that sound good enough?"

Then you process what exactly you're seeing, and you freeze. That's not John in the door. It definitely isn't, unless John is now a female, platinum blonde woman with blue dyed hair tips. She has the most teasing grin on her face and despite the initial surprise that flitted across it when she first saw you, now you have the feeling she's looking at you like you're something tasty to eat. It's creepy as fuck.

John, in fact, is standing right behind the woman, and looking at you apologetically. "Do you mind making dinner for three instead of two?" He asks, voice almost pained, like he’s sorry for surprising you.

You shake your head. "I haven't put the pasta in so that's fine." You sigh. Fuck, you guess you're not getting the chance to talk to him about the thing that happened this morning. "Who is this, by the way? I'd guess I'd have the right to know, considering it's looking like she's staying for a bit and I'm making her fucking dinner."

John winces slightly at the curse, opens his mouth, and is completely interrupted by the woman.

"CAAAAAAAASEY!" she yells at the top of her lungs. She is about to burst your damn eardrums.

However, just seconds later you can hear little feet running along hardwood floor, and you can only stare as Casey launches herself into the woman's arms. "Mama!" She exclaims, grinning as she's picked up and spun around.

John steps fully into the house, shutting the door behind him. "Karkat, this is Vriska. Vriska, this is Karkat," he tells you. "Vriska dropped by to spend a couple days with us before she's off again."

Vriska lets Casey down before turning to eye you. "And youuuuuuuu are?" She asks. "I've never seen you before." You can feel the judgement dripping off of her words. And John loves her?

Fuck. Well, she's certainly extremely attractive, there's that.

"I watch Casey while John is at work," you grumble, trying to be civil, at least for Casey's sake. She really does love her mom and you don't want the little girl to start disliking you. "I live here and attend college morning classes." You dump some pasta into boiling water and set the timer.

Vriska nods slowly. "Well then, Karkat, it's nice to meet you!" You have a feeling that she's much less delighted than she sounds. "I hope you've been taking care of John in the meantime!"

You clench your jaw, refusing to let yourself either blush or answer to her teasing. Fuck no, you know that anything incriminating you say will just be more of a reason for her to pounce on your ass. You fully understand why Dave calls her Spiderbitch and you already dislike her. You use "dislike" because you're pretty sure John would be devastated if you told him you hated her.

John jumps in to save you. "He's been doing great," he tells Vriska. "He generally stays in the guest room, but you'll sleep there while you're here and Karkat can take the couch, if that's okay with him."

You nod thoughtlessly, now mostly stuck in your own thoughts. Of course you won't be able to talk things out with him tonight. You won't be sharing a bed while she's here. Well, looks like you won't be having a fucking bed at all.

You wonder if you should be worried, as John, Vriska, and Casey chat together. Casey is running off to her room, probably to grab things she wants to show her mom. She's adorable and sweet and you have no clue how she came from Vriska at all. Her personality is all John, even if she has a lot of Vriska's facial features and blonde hair. 

But John obviously never told Vriska anything about the two of you in a relationship. You watch him shrug off his jacket and take off his dumb fedora, revealing his stupid hair all fucked up even more than it usually is. It's endearing and you hate how attracted you are to him. Does he really want to get into anything with you, though? He's attracted to you in some capacity, you're sure. He wouldn't have said some of the things he's said or kissed you back if he wasn't.

You're nervous despite all that. Vriska is his ex-wife and she's going to stay here for a while and John didn't say anything. He probably has his reasons. Maybe he just forgot to say anything. Either way you don't know what to make of it.

You definitely do not jump in surprise when the timer goes off, signaling your pasta being done. You take the pot to the sink, turning the heat on the sauce off on your way there. You strain, plate the spaghetti, and divvy up sauce before balancing all three dishes on your arms and somehow manage to transfer them all to the table at once without making a bumbling idiot of yourself and spilling something.

"Wow," Vriska says, her voice just dripping with antagonism. “Nice to know what a wonderful housewife you’ve hired, John,” she says, but you’re sure she’s insulting you instead of her. “Look, he even comes with an apron!”

You knew you shouldn’t have bothered to put on the stupid apron today. “It’s better than having to wash out stains,” you grumble, taking off said apron and draping it over a chair before going to grab forks. “And how about you go be a wonderful housewife as well? Go get some glasses and pour everyone some iced tea; it’s in the fridge. Don’t forget to set the table with napkins as well!” You do your best to let the words drip off your tongue with as much sarcasm as possible, and you’re pretty sure you did a decent job of it. The annoyed look on Vriska’s face definitely boosts your confidence.

“I’ll pour the tea,” John immediately volunteers like the gentleman he’s been taught to be. “Vriska, you can just grab the napkins, okay?”

It’s not long before the three of you are seated around the table with your food. Casey is in bed again—John had convinced her that she could ‘play with mama more tomorrow,’ and she had finally listened.

Dinner is absolute torture. Vriska spends pretty much the entire time either teasing you or talking with John and you can’t even tell if she hates you or not because she looks exactly like the kind of person who would purposely be rude to the people they were friends with. It lasts entirely too long and you spend most of your time actively making sure that you are not gripping your fork hard enough to bend it.

After dinner, you’re only allowed in your room long enough to get changed, grab some study materials, and go back out to the couch. You’re settled on one side of it and buried in one of your textbooks when John approaches you, a blanket and pillow in his arms. He sets them down on the opposite end of the couch from where you are, and sits next to you.

“The blanket is from the closet and the pillow is from my bed,” he informs. “I figured you could use one of each tonight.”

You glance over at him. “You do realize that a couch is literally completely covered in pillows, right?” you ask him. You’re leaning against one right now.

“Cushions mostly,” John points out, then shrugs. “I dunno. I figured you’d like a real pillow. And…I guess I also came out here to say I’m sorry.”

You close your textbook and turn to him in order to give him your full attention. “John, there’s no reason to be sorry,” you tell him flatly.

“Yes there is!” he argues. “We still need to talk about this morning, and now we can’t with Vriska here. I don’t want to risk her figuring it out. I still don’t know if she even _likes_ you yet.”

“She spent the entirety of dinner teasing and antagonizing me.”

“Exactly! She only does that to people she likes!” Looks like your assumption of her personality was spot-on, at least. Damn, you’re good.

He sighs. “But…you’re younger than me, and I don’t know what she’ll think about that yet.”

Ugh. You do your best not to let your age be apparent whenever you hang around John, but when you compare yourself to Vriska, the differences are glaringly obvious. The two of you are practically polar opposites, minus the fact that you’re both incredibly talented at annoying the hell out of the people around you.

“Sorry,” you mutter. Age isn’t something that you can fucking help.

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t want you to go apologizing,” he tells you almost immediately. “And we _will_ talk about this…just not while she’s here, okay?”

You make a face and shrug. “Sure.” You don’t know what else to say. There’s not much _to_ say that you can think of.

John exhales slowly. He seems to hesitate for a moment, but then leans in and kisses you—just soft pressure of his lips against yours—before pulling away a moment later and standing up in order to head back to his room. “Good night, Karkat,” he says on his way out.

You can’t help the way you stare after him.


	7. Time to Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe the two will finally get a chance to talk?
> 
> Possibly.
> 
> More fluff, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah okay so the writing thing still isn't going very well. I finally got it done and edited, though--I've decided to start actually livestreaming whenever I want to write! I'll post whenever I do on either [my blog,](http://minamiren.tumblrcom) [my writing blog that I still need to post all my writing in,](http://scribeofjohnkat.tumblr.com) or both. 
> 
> Feel free to message me/follow or check up on my blogs every now and then if you want to watch! I intend to attempt this whenever I have time (hopefully Saturdays). Who knows what's going to happen though.

You wake up when Casey and John pass your couch to eat breakfast. Casey is chattering away to her father, not bothering to stay quiet. You're not entirely happy about this development—for one, you didn't even get to wake up in John's arms to make up for not getting any sleep.

You're awake now though, might as well get up. You can bring Casey to school again for John and you'll have some more time to study before you have to get to class.

Groaning, you push yourself up and shuffle into the kitchen. "I'll drive Casey if you give me coffee," you bargain.

Casey cheers in excitement and John points towards the coffee pot—it’s already running. "First thing I did when we got to the kitchen."

"Fucking beautiful," you say, then wince at the glare John gives you. "Uh. Sorry. Casey, don't say that word."

"Which one?" She asks. "Fuck?"

Okay, maybe you should just go take cover in another room for your own safety. John looks very, very upset.

"Yes, that one," he says, keeping himself visibly calm. "Don't say it. Karkat shouldn't be saying it either," he tells you pointedly. Like he doesn't say it when he's alone with you.

"Sorry," you try again, sinking down in a seat at the kitchen table in your embarrassment.

You hear a sigh, and a moment later a mug of coffee is set down on the table in front of you, and John's hand is on your shoulder. "It's fine. Just please try not to curse in front of my daughter. I don't want her getting in trouble at school for picking it up."

You nod and grab your coffee, grateful for the offered forgiveness. "Thanks. I'll try harder."

Casey frowns at the two of you. "Is daddy mad at Karkat now for saying a bad word?"

You look up to see John shake his head, and internally sigh in relief, even though you didn't really think he was _that_ upset with you. "No, I'm not. I just don't want you getting in trouble, and want him to drop some bad habits."

"Yeah, yeah," you mutter, hunching in your seat and downing your coffee in order to avoid any other questions.

Thankfully, the cursing ordeal gets forgotten rather quickly what with breakfast. Even more thankfully, Vriska doesn't show up the entire morning. Apparently she stays up late and sleeps in later. You're ridiculously glad you won't have to face her until after your classes.

John actually lets you drive Casey to school again, too, despite your slip of the tongue earlier. She's pretty happy about it—she likes you a lot, and it's nice if only because of how John smiles whenever she gets excited about riding with you. You don't stay back at the house long after dropping her off; just long enough to grab your books and say goodbye.

"I'll see you this afternoon?" You ask, and he nods.

"Vriska might be a little hard to deal with, but please do your best not to piss her off while I’m gone, okay? She may be overbearing, but so far she doesn't really dislike you." He shrugs. "All else fails, just deal until you pick Casey up from school. She'll either take her out or do something here, but you can just study then. Can you do that?"

You don't really like the idea of spending _any_ time with Vriska alone, but you nod anyway. "Yeah, I'll try."

He grins at you, and you feel a little bit better about making the effort. "Thanks."

You're debating on whether or not to say anything more when you hear your bedroom door open. Nope, time to leave. You just bid John a good day and hightail it out of there. You'll be slightly early to class but at least you won't have to deal with...well, Vriska.

* * *

It turns out that class is practically just as hard to deal with as Vriska would have been.

Sollux is nosy as hell, and it annoys the living piss out of you. Seriously, what the hell does it matter if you were acting like you were on cloud nine yesterday but today look like someone stuffed a bag of shit in your pillow case last night? It doesn't matter at all, that's what.

Of course, this doesn't stop him from bothering you to the point that you are seriously considering introducing his mouth to your fist. You're trying to concentrate.

"Seriously KK, what the hell happened? You were doing just fine yesterday. Hell, you looked like you were practically _happy_. And fuck knows that never happens with you."

You narrow your eyes at him. "Shut the fuck up," is all you say.

He rolls his eyes—or you assume he does, judging by how he scoffs at you. "What, did someone make a move on your hot employer?" he shoots, clearly trying to get a rise out of you.

You flinch despite yourself. It’s not really the case, but you’ve reached that point where you’re a jealous idiot, and the words hit close enough to home to bother you.

"Aha! So it turns out he has a girlfriend."

You scowl at him and punch him 'gently' on the shoulder. "No, you blundering idiot, it turns out he has an ex-wife that's visiting for the week and now we can't talk about Monday." Fuck. You didn’t mean to let that slip.

He raises his eyebrows at you. "What happened on Monday?" Dammit, you were hoping he'd miss that somehow. You have absolutely no luck at all. The universe hates you.

"Nothing."

"Kk."

"What."

"Tell me what happened on Monday."

You glare at him. "You are seriously starting to piss me the hell off, Captor," you warn him.

"You're always pissed off over something or other," he blows you off with a wave of his hand. "Did something bad happen?"

"No," you grind out, teeth clenched. "Hey, I have a great idea! How about you shut the fuck up and mind your own damn business?" You bury your face in your textbook. Just because class hasn't started doesn't mean you can't study. Especially if it's to get away from that annoying asshole.

"I'll leave it alone if you promise to tell me after the ex-wife or whatever leaves and you work out whatever happened on Monday."

"Deal," you say, desperate to just end the conversation. You are so done talking about this.

You also don't plan on telling him later, but you can deal with that when the time comes.

* * *

When you get back to the house after your classes, John and Vriska are sitting on the couch together...watching Con Air.

You don't know whether to be jealous or appalled.

John must have heard the door open and close, however, because he almost immediately pauses the movie and gets up to greet you. "How was class?" He asks you, heading into the kitchen. "Want anything to eat?"

"I'm fucking starving," you reply, because Casey isn't home.

"Wow, sounds like you found a sitter with one hell of a mouth on him," Vriska says teasingly. You resist the urge to turn and scowl at her. She's just like Sollux, trying to get a rise out of you. You refuse to give her the satisfaction—while Sollux is someone you consider your friend, _she_ is not.

"Yeah, he curses quite a bit," John calls from the kitchen, opening and closing the door to the fridge. You wonder what he's doing. You should probably go interrupt—you can make your own food; he doesn’t need to be doing it for you. "But it becomes quite endearing after a time."

You're not entirely sure what to make of that.

You enter the kitchen to find him slicing up an apple. There's cheese, bread, and butter next to him and a pan on the unlit stove.

"Sorry I didn't ask. Is grilled cheese all right? I don't have very long so I got to do something quick."

"I'm sure he can make his own food, John," Vriska brushes past you, not even giving you a chance to open your mouth. "You don't need to baby him."

John gives her a _look._ Fuck, that probably comes from the time you got mad about him viewing you as a child. "I'm not babying him. I can do something nice, can't I?"

Vriska rolls her eyes, but doesn't say anything. You can't help but to be insanely curious as to what she's thinking—she looks like she's plotting something to you. It can't be anything good.

"I can do it myself if you want, John," you offer. "You need to get ready, don't you?"

He shakes his head and waves you off. "Nah, all I need to do is my jacket and tie and grab my hat and I'm good. Just go sit down at the table or something"

Well. There goes you offering to be helpful.

There's nothing left to do but to obey him, plopping down at the kitchen table. Vriska sits down next to you. It kind of creeps you out—it's like she's stalking you or something; she obviously has no need to be in here. Further that, she's just kind of staring at you. She keeps giving you this look you can't quite interpret, and it's really throwing you off.

Just a few minutes later a plate with a grilled cheese and apple slices is set in front of you, along with a glass of water.

"Okay, I seriously should probably get going now, but there's that. Don't forget to pick Casey up at three," John reminds you.

"I won't," you tell him. "I already do it every damn day, it's kind of ingrained into my routine by now."

"Yeah, probably," John agrees, laughing a little. "I'll see you two tonight?"

"Sure."

"Absolutely. See you later, babe," Vriska says, and she. She.

She fucking got up, walked around the table, and kissed him.

It barely lasted a second. But holy fuck you feel like you could probably break some limbs right now. That was. That was _so_ many kinds of Not Okay you don't even know where to fucking start.

"Vriska, quit fucking around," John tells her immediately, frowning.

"Okay, okay," she says, raising her hands up as if in surrender. "No more messing around, I promise." You doubt that she means a bit of it.

John looks satisfied enough, though, and sighs before shaking his head and heading out the kitchen. "I'll see you guys later!" He calls. The door shuts soon after.

You didn't get to fix his tie. This bothers you more than it probably should.

"Soooooooo, Karkat, how do you like being my ex-husband's babysitter?" Vriska's voice interrupts you out of your thoughts almost immediately. The way she drew out that 'o' is infuriating to you for practically no reason.

You tear your gaze away from the general direction of the now-closed front door, and frown at Vriska. Not that you were smiling in the first place.

"John is infuriating, his daughter is ridiculous, and I'd still rather be here than any other place I could possibly be right now. Does that answer your question?" You respond irritably, taking a bite of the sandwich John made you.

"A little," she says cryptically, standing up from where she had sat back down. "Other things answered it better, though."

You are officially lost enough a damn map and GPS couldn't help you find your way back to the conversation. What the hell does she even mean? "I have no fucking clue what you're talking about, but okay," you finally say gruffly. You just want to eat your sandwich and apple slices in peace.

Vriska watches you eat for a minute or two, but opens her frankly way-too-annoying mouth soon after, and you are left completely unsurprised. She's not even annoying in the endearing way, like John is. She just is driving you crazy.

"If you'd like," she starts slowly, as if she's laying out this...bet. "I can go pick Casey up from school so that you can get studying. Don't you have finals next week?"

You seriously prefer not to fucking think about the absolute vomit-inducing torture that your exams are going to be.

"What's the catch?" Is the first thing you ask, because something's telling you that she wouldn't offer to do anything for _you_ for free.

Vriska shrugs, grabbing an apple slice off your plate. You scowl. "Nothing," she tells you. "Just let me take her out and spoil her a bit and then we'll be back before John's home. You just have to make sure everyone has food tonight. Other than that, you're free."

Oh, right. Casey is Vriska's daughter too, though you have no idea how the two of them are related in the least, all considering their completely personalities. The only thing that's the same is their straight blonde hair and apparent love of spiders—Vriska must have been the one to buy Casey the stuffed bug.

You huff, pushing back your chair and grabbing your now-empty plate. "Fucking fine. Do whatever you want. Just make sure you get back in time for Casey's bed time."

Vriska nods with a slight roll of her eyes, as if you're being a complete idiot to even suggest that she wouldn't do something as important as making sure Casey got the right amount of sleep on a school night. Somehow, you have a feeling if you hadn't brought it up that she would have purposely brought her home later than she should have been. She seems like that sort of person—to do something like that just to fuck with you.

Whatever. You don't have time to argue semantics with someone like her.

* * *

The next afternoon, you're studying as intently as you possibly can while Vriska spends time in Casey's room with her daughter.

It's blessedly helpful for you to actually get studying done, although you didn't bother to tell Vriska that. You have a feeling she'd purposely go out of her way to make life difficult for you again, and you'd _really_ like to avoid making your life more difficult than it already is right now.

Except wait, looks like you're not avoiding it, because here's the bitch now! Sinking down on the couch next to you like it's _not_ your bed and studying space because she stole yours and you can't go to John's room! How fucking surprising. Not.

"So. Vantas," she greets. You resign yourself to closing your textbook and actually looking at her. Dammit.

"What is it," you growl as soon as the book is set aside, crossing your arms.

She raises an eyebrow at you. "Wow, no need to immediately get defensive! I was just going to ask a question." Her voice makes it pretty damn clear to you that she's screwing with you.

You’re pretty sure she is, at least. “What did you want to ask,” you say, because you might as well let her pester you and get the whole thing over with so you can get back to studying instead of dragging the upcoming misery out longer than it has to last.

“Weeeeeeeell,” she starts—fuck you hate that habit of hers, you’re never going to get over how much it infuriates you—“I was just wondering, considering how _upset_ you got earlier when you saw me with John, if there’s something going on in your head that maaaaaaaaybe I should know about.”

Oh shit. Ooooooooh shit, complete with eight fucking ‘o’s, because you did _not_ want to actually have this conversation today. Not with Vriska, of all people. Sollux? He’s annoying as hell, yeah, but you can generally get him to piss off with some bullshitted answer. Vriska, on the other hand, you’re pretty sure will not get off your back about this until you tell her the truth.

And probably not until you tell her what she thinks is the truth, so even if you try to lie it’s not going to work out. Dammit. You knew she was fucking with you when she kissed John earlier, but you didn’t guess that she was going to have ulterior motives for it past…well, pissing you off. Which she certainly achieved _without_ this bullshit. You just wanted to study right now.

“Vantas? I’m not hearing anything,” she draws you back to reality with an annoying singsong voice that you’re sure she’s using purposely to piss you off until you blow up at her with the truth.

You glare at her out of the corner of your eye. “I fail to see why me being…mildly frustrated…with you kissing the husband that you divorced would be any of your concern.”

“Well, it _does_ kind of have to do with me, considering that _I’m_ the one you seem to be mad at. I would say that’s a perfectly legitimate reason for your anger to be my concern,” she tells you. You hate her for using logic.

You grit your teeth together, not knowing what to say without giving away that you’re…well. _Interested_ in John Egbert (more like halfway to fucking in love, but whatever).

“You know, I was just fucking with you down in the kitchen earlier to see how you’d react. I had my suspicions already. I mean, you’re complete shit at hiding your feelings, but I _know_ John. It was obvious from the time he walked into the door that there was at least something going on with _his_ end, but I wanted to make sure that there was something happening on yours as well. I’d break your neck before I let you break his heart.” Her voice is flippant, but you have a feeling that she is telling the absolute truth—you do _not_ hurt John Egbert.

Not like you were planning to.

So there’s not really a way out of this conversation now—you can’t just lie at this point, because what if she tells John you’re just fucking with him? At the same time, you don’t want to have to deal with her after confirming your feelings.

Looks like a choice between your complete humiliation and the possibility of Vriska making John hate you. Not much of a choice, really. “I like him,” you admit, because how else are you supposed to word it?

“See? Now that wasn’t hard to admit, was it?” Vriska asks you, tone of voice as if she’s talking to a young child instead of the full grown adult you damn well are.

“Why the hell did you want to know so badly?” You doubt you’re going to get a straight answer, but you need to know what to take from this conversation. It’s wigging you the fuck out, how she’s controlled the whole thing exactly how she wanted it to get the answer _she_ wanted to hear, and you’ve done nothing but sit here and freak out over the possibility of her fucking you (and your chances with John) over.

She just laughs at you, and you immediately decide that her laugh is about ten times more irritating than her voice. Or maybe eight times, considering she really seems to like to go with the whole “spider” theme.

“Because of how John’s been acting. It’s totally obvious he wants to talk to you about something. He didn’t _tell_ me right out that you two were together and hasn’t really been _acting_ that way, so I needed to know if you were in a relationship yet. You’ve answered that question with a ‘no’ quite nicely.”

At this point, you’d rather be cramming for your exams than talking to Vriska. Wait, what do you mean by ‘at this point?’ You’d _always_ rather be cramming for your exams than talking to fucking Vriska. “Great. And what are you going to do with this information? Use it to torment me by shoving your past relationship with John in my face?”

“What _past_ relationship?” Vriska asks, and she just laughs at the horrified expression on your face. “I’m just fucking with you, Vantas. I have no intention on remarrying John. In fact, I was just going to do the both of you a favor—well, John a favor. You just end up benefiting from it.”

You are very concerned about what her definition of ‘benefiting’ might entail. “What are you going to do?” you ask suspiciously.

“I’m going to give you a chance to talk about your relationship. John actually likes you, and he seems to like you a lot. He’s been raising Casey practically alone for years, and he should have someone to be with. Which is why _you_ benefit, because I can tell that you like him so much you’re practically gagging to kiss him.” She says all of this in some irritatingly condescending tone that makes it entirely clear that she intends for you to view her as some saint for letting you have the chance to actually…well, date John.

You’re not entirely sure what to address first from that. The fact that it’s completely her fault that John is raising Casey by herself? The fact that you’re not _gagging_ to kiss him—you just really want to, okay? Her wording just makes you sound gross and desperate. Maybe you just want to tell her off for that tone of voice she won’t stop using with you.

Instead, you say, “How the hell do you plan on doing that?” Probably better that you did, actually. If she really intends on doing this for John’s sake (she sure as hell isn’t doing it for yours), then it’s probably best that you don’t piss her off and convince her to change her mind.

“I have shit to do in the city, and I can’t do it while spending time with my daughter,” she says with a roll of her eyes, as if you somehow could have known that already. “I’m going to go stay in a hotel or something for the next few nights, give _you_ some alone time with John, and come back for the weekend. All you have to do is use your time wisely and actually talk to John about this shit, okay? Stop dragging it out. It’s dumb and frustrating for everyone.”

You don’t get why she has any right to have a say on your relationship, but you unfortunately don’t really think arguing will benefit at this point. Especially considering you kind of _do_ want to get into a relationship with John as soon as she’s out the door.

She gets up without waiting for your reply, and ruffles your hair. You slap her wrist away with a frustrated noise. “Tell John where I’ve gone when he gets home, Karkat. I would wish you luck, but I don’t really feel like doing more for you than I already have. Maybe you’ll get lucky yourself.”

Your mind is still moving at a thousand miles a minute by the time Vriska is gone, and it takes you another half hour to finally start focusing on your homework again.

You hope she at least told Casey she’d be back for the weekend. You don’t want the girl to be upset about her mom leaving, no matter how much you hate Vriska herself.

* * *

When John comes home for dinner, he’s completely confused as to why Vriska’s car is gone and you’re back to studying in your room. You don’t tell him why she left—don’t think you could manage it without dying of embarrassment, honestly—but you do tell him that she said she’d be back for the weekend, and he seems satisfied with that.

And judging by how he kisses you and invites you to sleep with him again after dinner (fucking finally), he might be just a little bit relieved that she’s gone for now.

You can't bring yourself to care about being too forward or doing something wrong when you climb into bed with John tonight. You're just so fucking _happy_ that you have the chance to again. It was literally only two nights, but those two nights sucked. You didn't even get a bed. You got the damn couch.

John doesn't seem to mind at how you hook a leg over his thighs, or rest your head on his chest and generally be an overly-touchy nuisance. Actually, he seems to enjoy it, considering the way he wraps an arm around your waist and hugs you possessively close. You have no reason to argue this.

"I missed this so fucking much," you say fiercely—at this point you don't know how to be anything but honest. The past few days have been pent up feelings and frustration and teasing from Vriska. You're tired of it.

John swallows—it's funny, sounding pretty weird with how your ear is pressed against his chest. "I missed it too," he admits. "As much as Vriska means to me, I just...really wanted to cuddle with you like this, and I couldn't while she was here. I'm not sure why she left so soon but I'll totally take it if it means this can happen."

You can't help the way you blush slightly. "Before she left, she told me you were really obvious," you say. "As in, she wished us luck and gave us a few days alone before she came back this weekend."

"Oh." You pick your head up off his chest some in order to see him looking slightly embarrassed in the dark. "Well. I'm glad she did, I guess."

You reach up and impulsively brush your fingers against his cheek—hell, since when has anything you've done regarding John Egbert lately not been impulse?—and lean in to gently kiss him. Because that's the smartest thing you can fucking think to do right now. Kiss him.

Vriska's gone now and you're still mad about how _she_ kissed him just to fuck with you. It's your turn to get his kisses. She sacrificed those when she left him.

Which is probably a dick thing of you to think, because John doesn't seem to think ill of her at all, but you're jealous anyway.

Jealous?

Well, you _were_ jealous. But how could you be jealous _now_ , with how John's fingers are tangled in your hair, the other arm wrapped around your waist to hold you close? How could you be jealous now, with how he doesn't push you away like he did her, how he kisses you back and you can practically feel his lips smiling against yours?

You can't, really.

John pulls back so you can see his grin, and you are so screwed when it comes to him. You never really meant for this crush to go so far. He was just an attractive man whose daughter you looked after while he was at work. Now? You can't imagine leaving either him or Casey, even if you got offered a better job. You're a fucking sap.

You realize suddenly that John's not quite smiling anymore, for some reason. It leaves a sick, gross feeling in the pit of your stomach. Did you do something wrong? Should you not have kissed him just now? He kissed you back!

John lets both of his arms rest loosely around your waist before he speaks. "I really want to talk to you about Monday. Uh. If that's a thing we can still talk about?"

Oh. You let your head rest back down on his chest and listen to his heartbeat for a moment before answering. "I kissed you because of everything you told me the night before," you tell him. "Because you said that Casey liked me, and you like me, and it sounded like...well, a relationship just might fucking work."

John's arms tighten slightly, and you hold your breath, wondering if maybe you shouldn't have been quite as open with your thoughts. If that's the case, you're going to merrily shove your foot up your own ass about ruining your chances with this.

Our of the corner of your eye, John looks hesitant when he starts to speak, but his words sound sure. "Casey does like you. She practically considers you a parent-" he cringes, obviously wishing he hadn't said that, "-and I really, really like you too. I haven't dated at all since Vriska—I mean seriously, I'm a single dad, not exactly something people particularly look for in a relationship—but if you're willing? I want to. Try a relationship, that is."

You're not sure what to think about how much Casey does actually see you as a parent—you know she does, he probably just is worried it's going to work against him.

Sollux is never going to let go the fact that you're dating the man you babysit for who is eight years older than you.

You find after a moment of thought that you don't really give a shit.

"I want to be able to sleep with you like this and not have to pretend it's more than it actually is. I want to be able to kiss you and date you and all of that dumb sappy as hell sounding stuff," you tell him. It's not really much of a surprise to either of you, but you can tell he wasn't quite prepared to hear it anyway. Despite how positive he is, it's like he's convinced himself to expect the worst when it comes to things like this.

His fingers brush through your hair gently. "I want that too," he murmurs.

His huffs out a laugh all of the sudden, chest dipping under your cheek quickly with the few short breaths.

"What the fuck?" You're so polite.

"Nothing," John says quickly, shaking his head. "Just haven't dated in so long. I'm gonna be abysmal at it."

You roll your eyes and lift your head to look at him straight on again. "I hope that you realize I give exactly no shits," you tell him flatly.

"Also I'm going to have to get a babysitter to take my actual babysitter on dates."

Okay, that one’s kind of funny in a horrible way. You have to let out a short laugh it despite yourself. "Yeah, well. I'll try to make it worth it," you tell him.

He rolls his eyes. "Trust me, Karkat. You already have."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm getting there! Almost at the end, to be exact--this may be the second to last chapter. Sorry I've been taking so long with this; I hope that you enjoyed!
> 
> Please comment, kudos, or message/follow me on tumblr if you liked it! I'd really appreciate the support, especially considering we're almost done! I'm glad that people've been enjoying this so much. Hope you enjoy this chapter just as well!


	8. Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John, Karkat, and Casey go to find a tree. Also, cuddles. And kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for how long this took.

You wake up the next morning with John flush against your back, one of his ankles hooked around yours. The moment you shift you feel him kiss the back of your neck.

"Morning," he whispers.

You twist in his arms in order to face him. "How long have you been awake?" You ask, frowning.

He shrugs. "Don't know. Not too long, but there's only about twenty minutes before my alarm goes off, so I might as well stay awake till then."

"Fuck," you say. "School."

He grins—you can barely see it in the shadowy darkness of his room, but it's there. "Yep! It's still only Thursday."

You press your head against his shoulder and groan. You just wanted to be able to lay in bed with him, but now you have a time limit. At least you didn't wake up at the alarm. Then you wouldn't get morning cuddles at all.

Either way, you need to punch whatever moron that decided you should take morning classes in the dick. Right. That would be you. Time to punch yourself in the dick—except not, because you wouldn't be here otherwise. Ugh. Sacrifices.

"I don't know whether to be grateful or pissed. On the bright side, it's not exam weekend. On the down side, now there's only like twenty fucking minutes."

"Twenty minutes is plenty of time." John hums and rolls so that he’s leaning over you on his elbows, grinning down at you. He’s not wearing his glasses. Fuck, he’s cute.

You roll your eyes at him because seriously, twenty minutes is not enough time and probably never will be, but you can at least make an attempt to enjoy the short blip in time that is these few minutes with John. It’s very easy to enjoy when John settles his weight onto you just a little bit more, pressing you down onto the bed some but still holding himself up so as not to crush you.

He leans in and kisses you softly, just a gentle brush of his lips against yours before pulling away enough to rest your foreheads together. “Is this okay?” he asks quietly.

You’re so fucking red, you bet. John’s absolutely precious and adorable and he’s completely melting you by saying romantic things that he doesn’t even seem to know are romantic. All you can even do is nod helplessly in response. Fuck, _please_ let him kiss you.

He does, and it’s immediately the best morning of your entire life. Neither of you have brushed your teeth, so anything more than soft touches and clinging lips is completely off the table, but just having him cradle your face and press soft, heavy pecks against your lips, the corner of your mouth, your jaw, everywhere—just having him do that is absolutely perfect.

He’s so warm. You are so fucking gone for this man, it’s absolutely ridiculous. Of course, as you slide your fingers underneath the hem of his shirt to feel his skin, you can’t really bring yourself to care.

The alarm rings way too soon.

Getting out of bed at John's alarm is one of the hardest things you've done in a while. Which is saying something, considering you talk to and interact with Sollux on an almost daily basis.

Yeah, you _really_ do not want to get out of bed, out of John's arms and the wonderful little bubble of reality you're in right now.

Unfortunately, John has quite a bit more self-control than you do, because he pulls away from you despite your whining. He leans over and shuts off the alarm so it stops beeping, and it would be so easy just to curl up in the warmth where John had been sleeping and go back to bed.

Ugh. You should get this over with. You push yourself up and yawn as you get out of bed, turning to see John is already in his closet, down a shirt an in only his boxers as he looks for clothes.

...Right. Clothes. Those are a thing right now. "I'll go get dressed and meet you in the kitchen," you say tiredly, and he glances over at you before smiling some and nodding.

"See you in a bit," he says.

About forty five minutes later, all three of you are in the car—you in the passenger's seat, Casey in the back, and John driving.

"Why am I even here again?" You ask, dumping your books on the floor in order to cross your arms. John had told you to grab your stuff you'd need for school and get in the car. Which would be fucking peachy and all, except for the fact that you still have to bring Casey to school. And that after bringing Casey, you'll be a hell of a while early if you just drive your merry way straight to the college without stopping by the house first.

Casey seems excited, though. All three of you are rarely in the car together, for some reason—it tends to be just one of you with Casey, minus the time that John took you out to distract you from exams.

NOPE. Wow, time to back away from thoughts of the exams next week! You're almost sick just thinking about it, holy fuck.

John backs out of the driveway and just kind of shrugs, which is so helpful to you (not). "I'm gonna bring you both to school today," he supplies, which really doesn't help your confusion as to how John plans for you to not arrive at school so early you might as well be taking another morning class.

The drive to Casey's elementary school is only about seven to ten minutes, and she chatters to the both of you the whole way there. You're personally way too tired to deal with this exhausting ball of unending, talkative energy, but John manages to respond to most of her comments and questions. You think he knows you haven't had enough coffee this morning.

What are you saying, there's never enough coffee. You're in a constant state of 'don't-touch-me-or-I'll-literally-bite-off-the-offending-digit,' and no safe amount of coffee consumed could probably change that.

You tune into the conversation between John and his daughter when you hear your name.

"-Karkat gonna stay with us for a while?" She asks. She's asked questions to this nature before, but...well, John's response kind of means more now. After the shit that happened last night.

John glances at you for a moment, then flicks his eyes back to the road. "Yeah. As long as he wants to," he tells her.

You can definitely live with that as your roundabout answer to a question you didn't even know you wanted the answer to.

You can see her huge grin in the rearview mirror. "Yay!" She looks really happy about the thought of you staying.

You're so glad that Casey seems to like you so much. You would've never gotten the chance to kiss John at all if she hadn't taken a liking to you. Which is a fucking miracle, considering all you do is sit around and do essentially nothing (aka your homework) while she for the most part amuses herself.

You're not really one for kids—seriously, you think you'd fuck _way_ the hell up if responsible for one permanently—Casey is surprisingly easy. She has her moments, but she's sweet and reminds you of John.

"Karkat?" John says softly, and you frown. That sounds like he's almost worried. Now you're worried.

Fuck. Okay. "Yeah?"

"Can we tell Casey?"

Said girl is suddenly extremely interested in whatever you may have to say, while your jaw has gone slack. "Tell me what?" She asks excitedly.

John glances over at you for half a second before looking back towards the road. It's clear that he's making it your choice to go ahead. You're not sure how much you actually want to make this choice.

And yet, you think you know what you should do.

"Can you?" You ask him after a moment of trying to put your words together—you're getting tongue tied in your own damn mind, like hell you're going to attempt to explain to a young child something that will likely have you dissolve into a long string of cursing.

Casey looks curiously between the two of you, clearly excited to hear whatever you have to say despite not having a clue what it is (you don't think). John just nods and pulls off to the side of the road about a block away from the school. Oh fuck, this is going to be a _talk_ , isn't it? Dammit.

"Casey," John starts, turning in his seat to look at her. "Remember when you asked if Karkat was going to be your new mom and you could call him 'Papa?'" You don't know if you like that phrasing, holy shit. You're no one's mother _or_ father. You'd be a terrible dad.

Casey just nods though, so John continues. "Well, daddy's dating Karkat now. Which means we'll both be in my room if you come in because nightmares, and we may sometimes kiss in front of you, and we will hold hands and things. Is that okay with you?"

You know the answer to that already, but holy shit if you're not nervous for it anyway.

You shouldn't be. Casey just gives the biggest grin, and practically bounces excitedly in her seat as she squeals. "Yay!" She exclaims, and you have a feeling she's literally be bouncing off fucking walls if she wasn't strapped into her seat. "I _knew_ you like-liked Karkat, daddy," she tells him knowingly. It's disgustingly cute how she uses the term 'like-like.'

She fidgets in her seat as John smiles, ruffles her hair, and pulls back onto the road. "Does this mean that I can call Karkat 'Papa' now?"

This question isn't something John can answer for you, you know. You have to think it over for a bit.

You're not prepared for something like that. You just can't be. "Not yet," you end up telling her, and she looks so disappointed and you can't even tell what John's thinking right now, so you plow forward. "Which doesn't mean never. It means I just started dating your dad, and so this shi— _stuff_ —is new and I'll tell you when you can call me that, okay?"

She looks pretty disappointed when she nods her understanding, but that's the best you can do. You just don't think you could handle being considered a parent—you know she probably does, but you can't acknowledge it out loud yet. In the future, though. Maybe in the future.

You let out a huge sigh of relief when you finally drop Casey off in front of the school, and sink down into a puddle of pathetic Karkat goo in your car seat, way more tension than you thought you had from this conversation draining out of you.

John reaches over and pats your knee, runs a hand reassuringly over your thigh. "You did good with Casey," he says, now tangling his fingers with yours as he drives with one hand.

"I was scared as shit," you tell him.

He glances over at you and grins some. "I know. Which is why I'm proud of you. Thanks for letting me tell her."

You shrug, not knowing how to respond without saying something stupid as fuck. Instead, you say "What now? Aren't we way too early for me to go to class? There's like...half a fucking hour left till I'm even there at a time that's not insanely early."

John rolls his eyes. "Yeah, it's too early," he says, but then just continues to drive without answering what you really wanted to know (aka telling you what the fuck he's doing right now).

You stew in frustrated silence until he pulls into a random parking lot nearby the school and parks, turning to you. "Okay," he says. "So you were frustrated about not having enough time this morning?" He asks.

You're immediately more alert. "What?"

"Remember?" He asks. "You were frustrated about not having enough time before we had to go wake up Casey." What the fuck is he getting at?

He can tell you're just not getting it, because he snickers at you before leaning across the seat and pressing his lips to yours. When he pulls away a moment later, you just stare at him. "What?" You repeat dumbly, but you're catching on and your heartbeat is quickening.

"We wouldn't have enough time together if we went home, so I figured the car would be good enough?" He asks, pushing his seat backwards, and you're suddenly wasting no time in unbuckling your seatbelt and climbing over to straddle his lap in the seat.

Ok, you're perched on his thighs and uncomfortable as fuck, but John's hands are back on your hips and you are _so_ fucking fine with this arrangement. Your back may not be thanking you later, but you don't care.

You lean in too quickly and knock the frame of his glasses with the bridge of your nose. "Shit, sorry," you mutter, and John just shakes his head and laughs before cupping the back of your neck with one hand and pulling you back down to meet him.

You don't know exactly how long the two of you kiss—John just kisses you over and over again, pecking your lips, trailing kisses across your jaw and down your neck. It's so fucking worth it, though. If you could have _this_ every time before class, you sure as hell would be going a lot more willingly, midterms or no (which you're still fully convinced that you're utterly screwed for).

You make the most embarrassing noise when John bites the skin just underneath your jaw lightly, and he pulls back to grin up at you. "That was pretty nice," he says teasingly.

"Shut up, shut _up_ ," you groan, hiding your face against his shoulder—which is hard, considering now your face is simultaneously all squished up both against his neck and the car seat headrest.

He just hums and you can practically feel the smug little grin on his face, but you can't even do anything because you also are acutely aware at how his fingers trail gently up and down your sides over the fabric of your shirt. Dammit.

"You're gonna have to go back to your seat," he murmurs against your skin after not enough time a _second_ try this morning.

You only really give in when John absolutely refuses to kiss you even more, and then just drops his hands from your waist to the seat. "I hate you so fucking much," you tell him as you sink down despite your seatbelt and he pulls out of the parking lot.

"Maybe so, but at least you won't be late for class."

"Believe it or fucking not, I could not give less shits about class at this point even if I tried."

John eyes you. "Your boyfriend is a college professor. You're not getting away with skipping class."

Shit. He has a point.

You still groan and whine and complain and bitch about it, but you let him drive you to class. And he lets you kiss him one last time before you get out of the car and start the rest of your walk.

Now all you have to do today is face the lisping asshole, and then maybe you can get home in one piece. You can tolerate Casey and then possibly have some John time tonight. (Or not, considering finals are literally next week. What the fuck ever. You'll figure something out.)

You'll manage. Yeah.

It has never fucking felt so good to wake up at an ungodly hour of the morning without an alarm purely because your body has gotten so hardwired to the horrific hours you've been waking up recently before. And by that you mean finals are over, and John has his arm wrapped around your waist and his cheek pressed right in between your shoulder blades. You could cry from happiness.

You already did last night. No one will ever know. Except John. And Casey. And Sollux, probably.

The past week had been an absolute nightmare. Between studying, Vriska returning over the weekend to give you hell about your relationship, and trying to figure _out_ your relationship in the first place, you're exhausted. And then of course you woke up early.

You're ecstatic, but you're exhausted. John holding you against him makes up for most of it, though.

In other words, midterms are finally fucking _over_.

"I'm proud of you for making it through the week," John mumbles against your back. He probably has to get up soon; finish grading his own students' work.

You twist in his arms to face him, just so he can see you roll your eyes. "John, grades aren't even out yet," you remind him. "I have no fucking clue how I did."

"I put out grades for two of my classes yesterday night."

"Okay, but I haven't bothered checking mine yet. I have no faith in my ability to achieve anything _resembling_ a fucking A, so I'd prefer not to focus on that right now." Grades fucking suck and you stand firmly by this opinion. You will remain forever unmoved in your stance, steadfast and concreted down.

No one will ever convince you that grades do not suck in every way.

John rolls his eyes right back at you, the little ass. "If you're wrong then I totally get to say 'I told you so,'" he threatens.

Whatever. You doubt you're wrong.

You only get about another half hours’ worth of peace—soft kisses back and forth, holding each other close, quiet pleased noises and fingers skating, touching all over—before the door opens. The two of you break apart to distance yourself from each other some just as Casey comes into the room. You wonder if maybe you'll be able to get Dave to watch her today, or something. This is your first day free in a long time, dammit, and you want to enjoy it!

"Daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy," Casey babbles, making her way around the side of the bed to shake her dad's shoulder. "I have a questionnnnnn."

"Casey Casey Casey Casey Casey," John mimics back at her, grinning. "What is your questionnnnnnn?"

The little girl just laughs at John's antics before asking her question. "You said we were going Christmas tree shopping today, right?" You can _hear_ the pleading hopeful tone in her voice.

Looks like you're not going to be dumping her on Dave. Actually, it might be a good idea to dump _yourself_ on Dave, if Casey and John were going to be out. You already know you won't be coming. This is a family thing, and you're not family—you're the new boyfriend, you're the babysitter. You don't join in on tradition shit like that. They've probably been going out to get a tree together as a father-daughter deal since Casey was a baby.

"Of course we're going!" You hear John saying. You're officially laying with your face in the pillows, cause you feel like you might as well go back to sleep.

There's a moment of silence after, but you feel John shift and you hear whispering. Even straining your ears you can't hear what Casey may be saying to him or vice versa, however. Why did John have to have a child that _actually_ knew how to whisper without being ridiculously loud?

"Karkat, Casey wants to ask you something," John tells you.

Bluh. Moving. You push yourself up to a mostly-sitting position and face Casey, resisting the urge to curse at the effort it took you.

Casey looks at you eagerly, and you're not sure whether you should be apprehensive over the next words to possibly come out of her face or not.

"Can you come with us Christmas tree shopping?"

You pause. Blink. Realize that you'd been so sure in what was going to happen that you didn't plan on preparing another answer to that question. John _did_ give her permission to ask; does that mean it’s okay?

You settle on just nodding your head a quick 'yes,' and Casey's immediate response is to lunge over her dad's stomach in order to wrap her arms around you in a hug. You hug back, hesitantly as hell but at least you're trying, right?

"Go to the kitchen and get yourself some food," John tells Casey, causing her to let go and turn her attention to him. Damn, breathing is actually a thing again. What a fucking miracle. "We can go after I'm done grading what I need to this morning."

Well. Looks like you have weekend plans after all.

...Maybe a date?

Two hours or so later, John is shaking you back awake, a hand on your shoulder. You consider waking up without a fight for approximately three seconds before you decide _fuck it_ and just roll over so you're practically smothering yourself in your pillow. John's pillow.

"Come on, Karkat," John chides you, rubbing your back gently for a moment.

You make a pained noise in response.

There's a pause from John, and then footsteps as he leaves the room. He's gone for about thirty seconds before you hear him walk in again, and you're immediately on edge. What is he—

There's a sudden scream of laughter as you're impacted by a small human being thrown from John's arms to your back, and all the breath leaves your body.

Wheezing, you push yourself up and Casey slides off your back. "Wake up, wake up!" She tells you, grinning.

Yeah. She could've said that _first._

"I take it you're ready to get dressed and go?" John asks with a laugh.

You really want to go back to fucking sleep, to be honest. You're exhausted from the previous week. But...you want to go with John and Casey on this dumb little trip more. Ugh. Looks like you're gonna have to drag your ass out of bed. "Yeah, I'll be out in a minute," you grumble.

Satisfied, John ushers Casey off the bed and nods. "We'll be waiting in the living room," he tells you before shutting the door.

Now. Where are your jeans.

Ten minutes later or so, the three of you are in the car. You're hungry.

Dammit, you forgot to get food. John and Casey actually _ate_ when they get up; they weren't in a hurry like you!

Just as you're working yourself up in your mind—seriously, you're fucking starving—John glances over at you, then drops a granola bar on your lap. "Figured you'd be hungry," he says.

Oh. Now the only thing you're pissed about is not having anything to be pissy about.

You take the granola bar and rip the plastic open, taking a bite out of it. "Thanks," you mumble, sinking down in your chair. At least you have food now, you suppose.

It's not too much longer before John is pulling into the store parking lot and Casey is chattering excitedly into both of your ears. She's so excited, she wants the _tallest_ tree ever, but too bad her dad won't get it because the house is too short.

The three of you get out of the car and head to the indoor greenhouse-place-thing that has all of the Christmas trees. There's not too many people here—getting there early must really be beneficial.

Your nose is still assaulted with the smell of pine. This place has got to be an allergy nightmare.

"Daddy! Karkat! Come on," Casey bosses the two of you, grabbing your hands and throwing all her weight into dragging both of you forward. You both give in, if only because it's really cute that she thinks she can actually drag you like that despite probably being somewhere around a third your size.

"We're coming, we're coming," John says, giving a little bit of a wheezing laugh as he follows his daughter.

"What type of tree are we looking for?" You ask, but you feel weird as fuck for asking. This is a trip you're just tagging along on. You shouldn't be trying to input your opinion anywhere between the two of them.

John answers you anyway, not seeming to care. "Five to six foot," he tells you. Meanwhile, Casey has let go of your hands and is trying to find the tallest tree she can despite knowing she can't get it.

"Well, those would be over there," you tell him, pointing two tree-rows over. There's a sign.

John nods, making a weird sound as he inhales, but doesn't move. He's probably wanting to keep an eye on Casey. She will probably end up greatly lengthening what should be a relatively short outing.

John makes this weird inhale-wheeze noise again, and you turn to face him. "Are you okay?" You practically demand, because you're confused as shit. "You sound freakishly out of breath."

John makes a face, and you suddenly hope you didn't somehow do anything bad.

"Yeah," he tells you, but he still sounds winded. You just eye him for another long ten seconds or so before he shakes his head and starts to dig through his pocket. "I'm fine, I swear. Look," he insists, pulling out a little plastic....inhaler?

Oh. Well, that makes sense. This place cannot be easy on that shit.

He uses the thing and puts it back in his pocket, and when he speaks he sounds so much better. "I've had asthma since I was little. I avoid the inhaler if I don't absolutely need it for the most part, though."

Huh. Interesting. "Just don't wait so long you can't fucking breathe at all before you use it, asshole," you berate him.

He just shrugs and grins at you. "If you say so."

He wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you against his side just a little bit, and you turn bright red at the warm feeling of his arm. Home was one thing, this is _public._

You're trying to figure out if you should say something about it when John calls for Casey, and the little girl runs up to the two of you.

"Casey, let's go looking two rows over. We can get almost any tree from over there," he tells her. Excited, she almost immediately speed-walks over to the other row. She knows not to run indoors.

You and John follow a bit more slowly, John's hand resting on your lower back as the two of you walk. "I feel like I shouldn't be here," you say without thinking, and then immediately feel like an ass for saying it. This is not a conversation to be having with a new boyfriend while on an outing with him and his daughter.

"Why do you say that?" John responds, obviously ignoring your furious telepathic messages to pretend you never said anything and _not_ respond to that sentence.

You make a face when John just waits patiently for your response, obviously not willing to let it go. "Fuck, uh." You really don't want to try explaining this. "I just don't want to intrude between you and your daughter," you mutter. "This is shit that you two do every year; I shouldn't be here."

John gets in front of you, and puts both hands on your waist to stop you. You immediately feel bad for doing the stupid thing and opening your shitty mouth, because he looks pretty upset at your words.

"Karkat, you're wanted here," he tells you firmly. "Casey asked _me_ if you could come, not the other way around, so don't even try to make this about her. She loves you. You already know that she looks at you as more than a babysitter." He leans in and brushes a light kiss against your lips, leaving you (totally not) blushing furiously. "And I really like you too. So I want you to share this time with us. Understand?"

You nod mutely. So that means that...they both want you? John's willing to even let you come with them on a trip like this. Even if it's not a big deal for them, it is to you. You feel like you might actually belong here one day.

It feels really nice.

Fuck, what an utter sap you are, melting from something as dumb as John and Casey enjoying your company on an outing to find a Christmas tree. Thing is, it makes you feel like. Like. Well, like part of a family or something.

You haven’t been part of a family since your parents died.

Wow, that was one of the sappiest thoughts you’ve had in a while—time to drag yourself out of that one before you get even more of a disgusting emotional wreck than you already are! It’s not too hard to do—Casey’s calling both you and John over in less than a minute just to show you a tree she found that she thinks is ‘the perfect tree.’

John inspects it, and nods after a moment. “It’s a pretty good one, Casey. The branches seem even all the way around and it feels like they’ll hold the weight of the ornaments without them all falling off by Christmas.” She fistpumps the sky, and it’s so adorable you have to allow yourself to smile at least a little bit.

They both turn to you, and it takes you a moment to realize that they’re both waiting for your opinion. “Uh,” you say, biting your lip as you look over the tree, test the weight of a branch by lightly pressing down on it. “It actually does look like a good one,” you say grudgingly, then turn to Casey. “And it’s tall enough for you?” you ask.

She nods excitedly. “Yeah! Can this be it? Can we get this one, daddy?” she turns to John at the last question, who nods.

“Looks like this is it!”

Less than an hour later, the three of you are getting the Christmas tree set up in the stupid tree stand in the living room—well, you and John are. Mostly John. You tend to curse under your breath maliciously as branches poke you in the face and arms while John actually manages to get the tree anchored in while Casey watches on excitedly.

Fuck Christmas trees.

Finally, John crawls out from where he had been on his knees to reach under the tree and stands up. He goes to brush his hands on his legs, then stops—they must be sticky as hell. “Well, that’s it,” he says. “You’re free to let go now.”

“Thank f—I mean, thank goodness,” you correct yourself when John immediately gives you a look, and let go of the tree, wrinkling your nose at the sight of your hands. Dammit. Sap everywhere on you, too. “What now?”

John seems to think it over for a moment. “Well, everyone needs to wash their hands first so that there’s no more sticky stuff everywhere getting on other surfaces. Then I say we all watch a movie, and start decorating the tree and house tomorrow. What do you guys think?”

“I like that idea,” Casey says. “Can we watch Nightmare Before Christmas?”

Oh, hell yeah. You are so on board if Nightmare Before Christmas is involved. Sally and Jack’s song will never fail to get to you. “That sounds like an adequate idea,” you concede, refusing to let John know exactly how much you fucking love that movie.

John grins. “Great,” he says, and when Casey runs off to wash her hands (even though she wasn’t even all that sticky) he leans over to kiss you lightly. “How are you feeling?” he asks softly.

You shrug, letting yourself rest against him without actually putting your gross hands on his clothes anywhere. “I guess I’m feeling fine,” you grumble. “I actually enjoyed going out with you two to pick out your tree, so I’m probably about as good as I’m going to get.”

He hums against your hair. “Do you still feel like you shouldn’t be included in all this?”

…Well. Kind of. You can’t be—you haven’t been here all that long, for fuck’s sake. You’re only a boyfriend; you’re not a lifetime commitment and you haven’t been dating near long enough to feel like you _should_ be included in all this.

John seems to know exactly what your thoughts are by the way you just tense up against him instead of answering.

“We want you to be,” he says quietly, kissing you lightly again. Your cheek tingles where his lips were. “Casey and I—even as a friend, as a boyfriend, whatever. We both love having you around, dude. Let yourself feel welcome.

“You offer way too much to me,” you mumble against his shoulder.

Glancing up, you see him shake his head and grin. “Nah. I’m being selfish. I just really, really like you.” His face is red as he speaks. It’s unbearably cute.

Your face is probably red too, now that you think about it. Dammit. “Thanks,” you tell him, and lean up to kiss him.

Both of you forget to wash your hands until Casey comes out and scolds both of you for wasting time. Neither of you seem to care.

Especially not you—you’re finally welcome, you feel. You _belong_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so the first thing I want to say is that I am so fucking sorry for taking a month and a half to write this thing--I've been having so many problems, and even though that isn't enough of an excuse I hope that the people who were waiting on me forgive me. Seriously, I feel so bad that I haven't gotten it out sooner. I hope that it lived up to your expectations.
> 
> And speaking of, this is it! The very last chapter of the dad au. I sincerely hope that everyone enjoyed it, and I thank everyone so much for bothering to come and read this dumb fic that I wrote. 
> 
> I would say that this is all, but check by my works sooner or later--I have two side fics already written for this au (which I got finished while procrastinating finishing the actual chapter). On the downside, that postponed you guys receiving this. On the upside, more content in the near future!
> 
> If you liked this, please consider giving me a lil comment or something! It would honestly mean the world to me. I thank you all yet again for reading. You're great for sticking with me.


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